Eldorne's Atonement
by Group Askew
Summary: When Delia of Eldorne drew her last breath on traitor's hill, her family lost everything but their name.  What can be done to restore Eldorne's glory?  Well, Aoife Mairi doesn't know, but you can bet your life she's going to find out!
1. Lady Muck

**A/N – **Well, this is the beginning of Group Askew's 'chain story'. Please enjoy it… and I can promise it will only get better! By the way, I know that Delia only got life imprisonment (at least that's what I think), but it suits my purposes for her to be dead, so I am having her executed. Hope no one minds… after all, this _is_ fan-fiction!

**Chapter 1 - By Lady Muck**

Eldorne was dead.

It had died years ago on Traitors' Hill, as the last breath left its rogue daughter's body, and it was never given a chance at resurrection.

Very few people went in and out of Eldorne any more. The roads had been reclaimed by grass and bracken, and the castle itself was camouflaged behind a thick sheet of ivy, unchecked by the squadron of gardeners that had tended to it in ages past. The gardeners were gone now, for the treasury was all but empty. Eldorne had been stripped of its wealth, its privileges, its pride… it had lost everything but its lands and its name.

And this was the greatest curse bestowed by the monarch it had betrayed. Had its name been taken too, Eldorne could have descended quietly into the plebeian world, free of the spite and the slander and the scorn. But Jonathon IV was a clever man. Far worse that stripping Eldorne of its title, he condemned it to an eternal limbo; shunned by the nobility, yet still head and shoulders above the commoners. Thus Eldorne, isolated from the rest of the world, became a world unto itself. A world inhabited by withdrawn, resentful drifters. It forgot the meaning of happiness, and shut itself off from the tormenting past, the indifferent present, and the bleak future. It was a dark world, but what's more, it was a stagnant, hopeless world. The dark holds no fear if one has faith that light will someday return, but Eldorne had lost that faith.

There would come a time, however, when beauty would rise from the sea of bitterness.

There would come a time for light to shine on Eldorne again.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

A free white dove – a hope-symbol, if you like - spiralled into the infinite blue above the forest. Higher and higher it soared, until, with a jerk and a burst of feathers, it tumbled into a clumsy, unconscious descent. As the dead bird hit the ground, its hunter wandered nonchalantly over, unstringing her bow, and placing the coiled strand in the pocket of her worn breeches. A curtain of dark hair swung across her creamy face as she carefully lifted her bounty and placed it in the leather satchel suspended from one slim shoulder. She turned towards the dilapidated castle in the distance, smiling slightly. The cook was one of the few servants that Fief Eldorne could still afford to employ, and her pigeon pie was legendary.

Though the reflection in the looking glass of the 'tower room' was every inch a lady, the agile hunter was still easily recognisable. Her pale turquoise gown was three years behind the fashion, and a little threadbare, but it complimented her unusual, blue-green eyes; and her waist-length hair - thick, straight and almost black - was wound elegantly around her head. The eyes and the hair were all her own, but the slender figure, the pert nose, the full red lips and the delicately arched eyebrows had been possessed by Eldorne women long before Aunt Delia had boasted them, and would most likely continue to make their way down the generational line for as long as there were still girls being born. Satisfied with her appearance, she pulled on a pair of delicate leather slippers, and wafted gracefully through the corridors of the castle towards the dining room, in a similar fashion, it must be stated, to the all-pervading perfume of baking meat and pastry emanating from the kitchens.

It could not really be said that there was any shortage of people around Eldorne. Indeed, the table on this particular evening was laid out for no less than fifteen diners. There were the hunter's parents, her grandparents, her numerous widowed aunts and their numerous subdued children. As the hunter entered the dining room, she found most of the aforementioned already assembled there.

'Oh, there you are, Aoife Mairi,' chided a woman who must have been her mother, as she didn't look enough like the rest of the congregated throng to have been born into the Eldorne line, 'we've been waiting for you. Cook's made pigeon pie tonight.'

'I know,' said Aoife Mairi, as she slipped decorously into her seat, inwardly grumbling at this use of both her names, when even just 'Aoife', with its unpronounceable jumble of vowels, gave her enough trouble. She opened her mouth to say something about it, but at that propitious moment, the cook entered, placed an enormous pie dish in the centre of the table, and bustled out again. The family was quickly served, and were soon all chewing appreciatively. _Because_ thought Aoife cynically, _if their mouths are full, no one can expect them to talk_. Perhaps it was due to twenty years of isolation from the rest of the world, but, among the Eldornes, conversation had become something of a lost art. It was limited to the polite and the necessary - nobody ever actually told anybody else anything _real_, and for someone who had always had as much to say as Aoife, it had been an uncomfortable sort of environment to grow up in.

For as long as she could remember, she'd felt like something inside her was about to bubble over, as if there was too much that was being repressed; an animal in a cage that was slightly too small. All she knew for sure was that there had to be more to life than poor, dead, pathetic Eldorne. She wasn't a fighter or a scholar, and she had only a weak healing gift, but she knew that there was something more for her. Something that couldn't be found here, in a place where the only excitement dwelt deep in the long hidden memories of those who were old enough to recall better times. Someone stopped chewing for long enough to say,

'Pass the beans, Aoife Mairi.' _There you go again_, she thought, as she reluctantly obliged.

Under the cover of her pie, Aoife gazed around the table at the carefully guarded faces of her relatives. None of them gave any sign that they might once have been happy, yet she knew that they must have been. There were her grandparents, elderly now. Everyone, themselves included, knew that they had nothing left to live for, yet for some unfathomable reason, they were both still in admirable health, physically, at least. Aoife had no idea what it was that they did to occupy their time.

Her grandfather, who had been an advocate in Corus, had lost his position after his daughter's treason, and his wife, who's needlework had once been famed throughout the realm, had not been observed to touch so much as a pincushion for at least five years. Neither of them ever spoke or moved much, and while this made them less-than-thrilling companions, the fact that they never exerted unnecessary energy was no doubt contributing to their longevity.

Over there, of course, were the aunts, her father's three younger sisters; all in their thirties now. They had spent much of their girlhood with the shadow of disgrace hanging over them, and instead of making highly respectable marriages, which their beauty and pedigree would otherwise have assured, they had had to be content with the younger sons of lesser fiefs, knights, all of them, but not the most skilful of fellows, as was evidenced by the fact that all three had recently perished in the still ongoing Scanran war. Upon being widowed, the aunts had returned to Eldorne with their combined total of seven children, and had immediately adjusted themselves to the sombre mood of the place – not that it had taken much effort, as none of them had been particularly content in their new homes, either. Even their offspring were caught up in Eldorne's sobriety. One might expect such young children – the oldest was not yet ten years – to be immune to the demons of the past, but it did not seem to be so. They too were very quiet and entirely unremarkable, and spent a great deal of time indoors.

Aoife turned slightly in her seat, and her face settled on the visage of Diederich of Eldorne, her father. He was a tall man, and powerfully built, yet his appearance did not demand respect. Perhaps it was because of the way his once handsome face sagged around his sad, grey eyes, or perhaps it was due to the fashion in which his prowess with the sword and the lance had deteriorated after 'the shadow' fell on his family. Aoife knew that he blamed himself for what had happened. He had been a few years older that Delia, and when she was sent to Corus, he had been instructed to look out for her. Unfortunately, he had been hell-bent on courtship at the time, and the rest, as they say, is history. The object of his courtly affections, however, still sat beside him, and out of the whole miserable lot of them, her mother was the only one Aoife felt at all sorry for – mainly because she had been very unlucky.

Given the space of a few months, everything could have been much different for Lady Emese. Aoife had always thought it most unjust that someone who had only tried to do something right, by promising herself to a man who loved her rather than one who would treat her like a possession, had been so cruelly cheated by fate. She had wed Sir Diederich only a matter of weeks before 'the shadow' came, after having turned down marriage proposals from several more advantageous candidates. She had, at the time, of her betrothal, been called a fool for marrying for love, and after her new family was disgraced, the moniker seemed almost justified, but while the rest of the Eldornes seemed to have descended very comfortably into silence and moroseness, Aoife's mother was slightly different. It might just have been the fact that a riotous cap of carroty curls didn't really sit well with dreariness, but although Emese kept up the act as well as the rest of them, Aoife often got the feeling that, like herself, her mother actually had something to say, as if resignation to the Eldorne fate was more charade than reality. Unfortunately, though, she was very good at projecting and defending this façade, so much so that all her daughter's attempts at conversation were coolly and politely rebuffed.

Then, of course, there was Aoife herself. A beauty, naturally, but what was the point, she often reflected, of being beautiful when no one was ever likely to see you. Raised to be a lady, but through no conscious effort on the part of any tutor or governess, or even her mother. She had raised herself, in many ways, but it seemed that the stuffy halls of Eldorne demanded nothing less than perfection. She was happy to oblige; lady-like formalities were not a chore for her, as they were for some girls. The arts of the curtsey and the fan required as much concentration and precision as any weapons drill, and needed to be practised in an equally rigorous manner. Her only indulgence along those lines was her hunting.

Though she liked being a lady, a lot of the time being a lady of Eldorne was just too hard, and when the heavy weight of her family's misfortune descended upon her young shoulders, and the castle became suffocating, she could always go out into the fresh air that knew nothing of past sins, string up her bow, and kill something. It made her feel a lot better, and it wasn't _exactly_ unladylike. Even Tortall's queen was known to do the same, on occasions, and in said monarch's younger years, her skill in the hunt had probably saved her life. Not that the rest of the Eldornes set much store by the monarchy any more. Aoife looked up from her musings as the door swung open and the cook entered, this time bearing a tray full of bowls, and the Eldornes - disgraced, derelict, and for the most part, completely forgotten - tucked into their pudding.

As soon as the plates had been scraped clean, the diners scarpered, lest the phenomenon of after-dinner conversation be unwontedly employed. Aoife, too, was eager to leave. The summer evenings were long, and a walk in the grounds beckoned, but as she turned to go, the unfamiliar sound of her father's voice stopped her in her tracks.

'Aoife Mairi, I will see you in my study, please.' This was unusual, but not entirely unexpected. The last time she had been called to her father's study, it was to be told that hunting was an unfit pursuit for young ladies, and in the light of the pigeon pie, a repeat performance would not be completely unwarranted. Not wanting the walk through the drab halls to be made even more unpleasant by her father's uncomfortable silence, she gave him a good five minutes head start before striking out on the same course.

Aoife was not exactly sure why Sir Diederich called this room his 'study'. She was fairly certain that he never actually studied anything in it. He seldom wrote or received letters, and as far as she knew, aside from overseeing the welfare of the few peasants who still tenanted Eldorne's lands, he had no other business. Most likely, she thought, it was just his particular private space for being alone with his misery. Everyone in the family, except for Aoife had a place like that, but the way she saw it, the times she spent with her relatives were gloomy enough. When she was alone, she much preferred to be happy. Or as happy as she knew how to be. Growing up at Eldorne provided very little initiation into the art of happiness.

But she had arrived at the study now. Taking a deep breath and clearing her face of all expression, she knocked on the polished oak door, a little dusty now, but still a fine example of craftsmanship. Interpreting the answering silence as an affirmative response, Aoife gently pushed it open. She was somewhat surprised by the sight that greeted her behind it. Not only was her father seated on the worn leather chair behind his desk, but her mother was standing beside him. Both were wearing very grave expressions, and if they had been any other people, Aoife might have been concerned by this, but these, after all, were Eldornes. It would, in all honesty, have been far more troubling if both their faces had been plastered with broad grins. But they obviously did intend to talk, and that in itself was rare enough. Sir Diederich motioned stiffly to an empty chair in front of his desk, and his daughter obligingly sat down in it. He sighed.

'You're seventeen now, Aoife Mairi.' Aoife gave her father a puzzled half-smile.

'I've been seventeen for more than six months.' He seemed momentarily caught off his guard.

'But it's the eleventh of June. That's your birthday.'

'No, that's Lerant's birthday,' she replied indulgently, 'He's twenty-one today.' Though he had a sneaking suspicion that his daughter might be inwardly laughing at him, Sir Diederich went right back to square one.

'Well, the fact remains, Aoife Mairi. You're seventeen now.'

'Which means?' Aoife prompted.

'Which means that you are of an age to make your debut at court.' Aoife stared. She had always rather liked the idea of being a court débutante, but had naturally assumed that the opportunity would be denied.

'But I've heard you say many times that no Eldorne would have anything to do with court ever again.' Sir Diederich cleared his throat uncomfortably.

'Well, er, circumstances change. When I said that, I didn't have a daughter of the age to be presented.'

'Father,' argued Aoife, 'we both know you're not doing this for me, even though it _is_ what I want. What has really happened?' Her father's face began to take on a rather unbecoming purple colour, and in goldfish fashion, he opened and closed his mouth several times without so much of a sound escaping from it. Apparently, when you spent the most part of your life pretending that your vocal chords were defunct, it made it even more difficult than usual to be the bearer of bad news. Lady Emese laid a calming hand on her husband's arm.

'The thing is, Aoife Mairi,' she explained, 'the treasury is very low at the moment.' Aoife snorted.

'Mother, please. The treasury has been practically empty since before I was born!'

'Yes, but never this low. Recently the situation has become much more serious.' This came as no great shock to Aoife. After all, this was Eldorne. Anyone who lived here had to be used to bad news. But another thought struck her.

'Making a court debut is very expensive. Surely it's not a clever thing to do if we're already bankrupt.' With a rather frightening choking sound, Sir Diederich's throat came unstuck.

'It's a long term investment.'

'A what?'

'You heard me. We can get you to court on a budget. The crown will pay for your lodging for your debut season, at least, as it does for all the débutantes. And as for dresses, we have hundreds of court gowns lying around here, ones that belonged to your mother and your aunts. Your grandmother,' he paused, 'your grandmother kept all Delia's things. You can probably have them, too.' This was all starting to sound very, very weird.

'But how is any of that a long term investment?'

'I hadn't got to that yet. If we can get you married within the year, to someone of a reasonably well-off fief, our finances will be sufficiently relieved to support the rest of us here in relative comfort.' Yes, this was definitely weird. And not in a positive way, either. Aoife stuck out her chin defiantly.

'If marrying me off is so important, why not just negotiate a betrothal contract with someone; save yourself the expense of court?'

'Don't be ridiculous, Aoife Mairi,' came the voice of her mother, 'you know our social situation. Contracting a betrothal with an Eldorne isn't advantageous to _anyone_. That's why you're going to court instead. You will meet all the eligible bachelors, and hopefully, against his better judgement, one of them will fall in love with you and decide to marry you anyway.' Aoife's carefully hidden temper was beginning to rise, unbidden, to the surface.

'I don't believe I shall ever marry,' she declared passionately, 'I have no wish to contribute any more children to this gods-cursed line, for even if they bear another name, they will always be Eldornes. I hope I am the last of the us; I wouldn't wish this life on my worst enemy! So no, I _will_ not marry, even if I get an offer from the crown prince himself!'

'You', said Lady Emese, blue eyes glittering icily, 'will do what is required of you by your fief. Perhaps you can restore to it some shred of its former glory.' Aoife laughed mirthlessly.

'It will take more than one good marriage to redeem Eldorne,' she said. And before either of her parents could voice the dismissal that she knew was coming, she rose elegantly from her chair and strode out of the room.

_Well_, she thought to herself, when she felt that she was a safe enough distance away to stop and collect her thoughts, _I can't say that this is an ideal situation, but if that's what it takes to get a bit of interesting conversation around here... _

**A/N** - stay tuned for chapter 2... it will be written by none other than our own Mage of Dragons... oh, and review, or you could possibly face the cyber gallows (just like delia!)

l.m xoxo


	2. Mage of Dragons

**_A/N: _**Well, here it is, the second chapter of our chain story. Hope you like it!

_**Chapter 2 - By Mage of Dragons**_

_I'm finally going to Corus, _Aoife thought to herself. She was still undecided as to how she felt about this sudden revelation. As a lady, she would finally be in her element, and, she supposed, far more at home than here at Eldorne. She had never felt as if she belonged within those silent, dusty halls. And, finally, she would have a real challenge for once in her life. Here at Eldorne, the only challenges that existed were the ones she set for herself, or the silent demands for perfection that she felt radiated from the stony walls.

Nevertheless, Aoife was unsure. She hated being forced into decisions which she could not affect; her birth being the largest of these things which weighed heavily upon her. Her parents were forcing her into this, and, just as every other time, she was supposed to "make the best of things, Aoife Mairi." Those same words were uttered by her parents every time they sent her to resolve or muddle through a problem not of her own causation.

The surety of her parents in this whole Court appearance matter also bothered her. Her whole future, and, if what they said was true, _Eldorne's _whole future lay on her ability to gain a husband within a year. Didn't they understand that, besides her brothers and uncles, she had no experience with men or boys? Aoife bit her lip. She loved challenges, but this one sounded as if it was just too much for her. The Gods knew how high the odds were stacked against her; she had never been to the convent like all of the other Ladies, she had never had a meaningful conversation with a male outside of her own family (and even something meaningful in Eldorne would seem bland somewhere else,) and, oh yes, she was, how had Lerant quoted that noble? The "sprig of a traitorous tree." She only remembered the utterance because it was by far the mildest of all the insults hurled at her family line.

Almost no one had dared to make contact with Fief Eldorne since her traitorous Aunt's execution, save for when the Crown's men had come to strip the family of its fortune. Even the local village children from the scant few families who had stayed within the bounds of Fief Eldorne were not allowed to approach the members of the household, Aoife had once heard one of them say. Their parents were afraid that the noble family's treachery would rub off on them. _If the villagers, the people who are supposed to respect and honor us, can't even bear to speak to me, then why should any noble?_

Lerant had been allowed to escape this Gods-forsaken place, by the grace of the Gods. Why should her family be given another chance? Aoife thought longingly of her eldest brother, Reagan. He had left home almost seven years ago, in a fit of violent passion that was his nature. Fiery-haired and green-eyed, Reagan had been a spark of light inside dreary Eldorne, or so Aoife often liked to think. She had only been ten, and he, fifteen, when he had left, never to return, and her memories of his were scant—mostly loud outbursts, or the way his white teeth had flashed against his face in a cocky grin.

_Where are you now?_ Maybe he had shed his name and lived now as a commoner, free of this birth-curse. But Reagan would have never settled for that, Aoife was sure. He had wanted to be a knight, wanted it more than she had ever known a person to want something. His dreams had been dashed when he finally turned ten, Lerant had retold to her. Now, she wondered where he was, and if she would ever see him again.

Sighing, Aoife stood up from her bed and eyed herself in the mirror, willing Reagan's face, as she imagined it might look, to appear over her shoulder. For if anyone knew if it was possible to shed this curse, it was he. But the answer was lost to her. Aoife could only guess at where he was, or even if he was alive. And, after seven years of separation, she doubted they could even recognize each other.

She knew that she herself had changed, and not just in appearance. The years she had spent, locked away inside the halls of Eldorne had worn away her spirit, softening and smoothing it in the way a river shapes a pebble stone.

_For the better or the worse? _She thought for the thousandth time. She had always thought that just keeping her sanity was an accomplishment, but sometimes she wasn't sure. On the other hand, surely, to be a lady required a certain demureness of spirit, or so Aoife had imagined the Sisters at the Convent would say, when she had been young enough to play those games.

_My situation is __impossible!_ Aoife thought again. I know nothing about being a Lady, save for what I have taught myself! All I have are Mother's old stories and my silly imaginings! Still, she had to try. It wasn't in her to give in to a challenge, no matter how impossible or unwanted. And, no matter how much she cursed her ancestress, no matter how often she wanted to reject the blood that ran through her veins, no matter how much she hated the dreary cage of a place that was Eldorne, she still supposed that she owed to it a noble duty.

o o o o o

The next night, after a silent dinner of pheasant soup, Aoife was again summoned to her father's study. She stepped in, thinking that maybe, for once in her life, if she went into her father's room, he would speak to her without his customary weighted silence. However, all of her wishful thinking was in vain. Her father studied her features intently for several minutes. She stared back at him, her blue-green eyes defiant.

After a long while, he folded his hands on top of the desk. "Yes, I suppose that you'll do," he said with a sigh.

_I'll_ do Aoife couldn't even fathom what her father meant by that phrase. She opened her mouth to repeat his words, but swallowed them when her father's voice interrupted her whirling thoughts.

"Those old dresses of Delia's ought to fit you fairly well, Aoife Mairi. And, your grandmother has offered to tailor them for you, quite graciously. You should thank her as soon as you have the time."

Aoife's mind spun. Were her ears on straight? What had happened to her world? Her grandmother, sewing again, and her father encouraging her to speak? What was going on here?

"Grandmother is sewing again." She stated flatly. Her father nodded. "For me? For the Gods' sakes, why?"

"Because the future of Eldorne hinges on your marriage, Aoife Mairi. We are all counting on you, so we must do our best to see that you succeed," Dierderich said bleakly.

_Well, when you put it that way…_Aoife thought to herself. Her father had spoken the words as if someone had signed a writ for his death. His voice held a gravity that the most serious Player would envy. Ignoring the use of her double name, she opened her mouth to say, "Oh," in a very ignorant and undignified manner, but closed it when she realized that she must start practicing no to be a lady. Surely ladies did not express themselves with something so common and coarse. She steeled her features and settled for what she hoped was a dignified nod.

"Now, follow me," he beckoned, rising wearily from his worn leather chair. He led her up several flights of well-worn but lately unused stairs, up to her grandparents' rooms. As they stepped inside, Aoife looked at the unfamiliar surroundings and thought, _maybe I've been here before, but if I have, I can't possibly recall when. _It disturbed her slightly to think that there were places inside her own home which she had not fully explored. But she was more prone to exploring the forests outdoors than the dusty halls within Eldorne. Her observation of the place was cut short as her father dragged her into a corridor inside her grandparents' rooms. It was short, and led to yet another room, this one unique in the fact that it was without windows, and had only one door, which they entered through. Dominating the room was a large, intricate cedar wardrobe, though a set of chests and a row of shelves also stood out from the dark, empty spaces. Lighting the old, musty candles with her gift, Aoife stepped forward.

"This room contains," Dierderich began, then cleared his throat, "all of Delia - your aunt's - old things. We have agreed that you are to have them." This said, he once again lapsed into silence.

Taking his usual non-verboseness as an instruction for her to proceed with her inspection of the place, Aoife did so. She, however, did not begin her search with mighty wardrobe, but with a shelf which stood against one wall. It seemed to be adorned with a great army of dust-rabbits. Upon closer inspection, and much breathy prompting (which left Aoife coughing and choking from the dust she had raised,) she determined that the whole shelf was occupied by lovers' trifles. She supposed that all of the adoring men at court had each given her their fair share of gifts in attempts to win over her infamous ancestress. She had heard as much from her Aunt Deirdre, who had been (and still was) an adoring fan of her older sister's beauty and ability to attract men.

The chests, Aoife discovered, contained an everyday array of skirts, shirts, and shifts, as well as a whole chest filled with frilly and lacy undergarments. This struck her as more than slightly odd. She should have expected it, seeing as it came from her family, but, still. There was a trunk inside her house full of traitor underpants. It was almost comical. Why had her grandparents kept _these_

_This just finally proves that there are Eldornes other than Delia who are _completely _insane, _Aoife thought. She resolved that she wasn't going to be wearing any traitorous under-things anytime soon. As soon as she had processed the thought, Aoife chided herself. _I sound like the village women, the ones who think that Eldorne blood-and treachery-is catching. I can't be any_ more _Eldorne than I already am. And besides, how are other people supposed to accept me for who I am, in spite of Delia, if I can't even get over the part of me that is her?_

Shaking the unwelcome thoughts from her head-she had more investigating to do-Aoife moved on to the wardrobe at last. When she opened the heavy, intricate doors, she witnessed a riot of colors as was unfit to be seen anywhere in the vicinity of Eldorne.

Aoife was immediately thankful that her aunt had been such an immoral and scheming seductress. Because, she had heard her other aunts remark, in her efforts to make herself as desirable as possible, and in order to stand out against the other women of her time, Delia had declined the tissue-thin, pale gowns that were considered fashionable. She had instead opted for gowns of brighter hue and silky fabric. The cuts of the dresses were not as bad as she had imagined—certainly not the exotic new styles she would see in Corus, she guessed, but at least the dresses were modern enough that they did not scream, "Grandmother!" The necklines _were_ dangerously low, too low for her taste, but that wasn't _so_ bad. Fashion lately had drifted towards more exposure. And, she _was _out to get a husband in a year, she reminded herself. She could use all the help she could get, even from Aunt Delia.

When she was done with her inspection, she wasn't sure what to say. She was still angry at her father for his decision, but now, her situation didn't seem so hopeless. _I guess I ought to act the Court Lady now, _Aoife thought. "Thank you, father," she said, walking up to him. "These clothes should be perfect."

Her father nodded. "I will have them brought into your rooms for your grandmother to alter." Aoife nodded in response, then left the room.

o o o o o

A few moments later, Aoife found herself in the woods, with her bow and quiver slung over her back. She strode quickly to the place where she had set up a makeshift target, and set herself up. Archery was her escape. It didn't require manners or thinking. It was just you, the arrow, and the soft twang of the bowstring. The repetition and rhythm was soothing. Out here, away from everything else, she could shed her worries about becoming a lady, and just shoot her bow.

When she was there, she didn't think about the fact that she was leaving for Corus tomorrow, or that this might be the last time that she would shoot her bow for a while. Even though Tortall now had two Lady Knights, and a host of other female warriors in the Queen's Riders, she guessed that the Court Ladies would still remain old-fashioned about fighting.

The sun dipped low in the sky, lighting up the horizon with ruddy streaks of fire. As she recoiled her bowstring, she looked back over the line of trees and thought, _well, this is goodbye, Eldorne. _She wouldn't miss the place, she thought, but at least here, she had some security. Tomorrow she would be thrown out into the world, like a baby bird pushed from a nest. And she had only one chance to get things right, without practice, only one chance to spread her wings and fly. _Well, let's hope I don't get it wrong. _

**_A/N: _**So, there it is. Stay tuned for the next chapter, to be written by the amazing Confusedknight!! It'll be up soon! And don't forget to review!!!


	3. Confusedknight

**-a/n-** This is **Confusedknight **writing this chapter if you didn't already know.

Sorry about the delay, blame J.K.Rowling for releasing her seventh book and thereby winding me into such a state of excitement that I couldn't even think about Tortall for the few weeks preceding the release. Having shamelessly queued up at midnight, obtained, and read my copy by five in the morning, then spending the last two days coming to terms with my grief, I'm finally able to present: Chapter 3.

Also, thanks to everyone who has reviewed, you're all wonderful people :D

**Confusedknight xxx**

**P.S. **If you check out our profile page there is a picture of Aoife :D

* * *

Her blue-green eyes wide, Aoife peeked out at the city of Corus. She had been rattling along in this half rotting carriage for three days and finally she had caught her first glimpse of her destination. For Aoife the city held the power over her future. It's grey stone walls and ornate Palace held her only hope of redemption.

As excitement coursed through her veins, the feeling of barely contained panic welled in the pit of her stomach. Aoife hadn't met any other nobles since a riding group from fief Hollyrose had got lost and wandered unwittingly into the mouldering remains of Eldorne. Upon realising where they were the riders hurriedly rode on into the darkening sky, preferring to ride on rather than risk the taint of Eldorne.

Aoife's unconfessed fear bubbled beneath her skin and once again she cursed the Gods for her traitorous Aunt. It was unlikely that anyone would wish to socialise with her as soon as they knew her home fief and it seemed damn-near impossible that she could win the heart of a rich suitor. If she had neither friends nor romantic interests, her days at court would be miserable and even worse than at Eldorne, where she could at least move around without the harsh, sanctimonious glares of other nobility scorning her family name.

Despite her inner battle to remain calm and composed, the carriage rattled on. Aoife could see the hard compacted earth of the streets of the lower city passing beneath her through a hole in the carriage floor. The poor condition of the carriage reflected adequately on the state of Eldorne's affairs.

It hadn't been used for almost twenty years and the wood was rotting slightly. The curtains at the scratched and grubby windows were moth eaten and sun bleached and there was a strong draught through the gaps around the door. Not that Aoife was complaining. It was a hot summer's day in mid-July and the draught was thoroughly welcome on her hot and sticky face.

The large trunk, her only travelling companion, was stowed opposite Aoife. It contained all of the dresses and other garments that Aoife owned, including those inherited from her Aunt. In the weeks before she had left, her Grandmother, once famous for her needlework had set to work fixing and altering Delia's clothes to Aoife's physique.

Despite their freshly laundered smell and alterations, Aoife could not help but feel self-conscious. These dresses had been in fashion twenty years ago and despite not being a very vain person, for Aoife first impressions could mean the difference between succeeding in life or being sent home to Eldorne empty-handed.

Living such a secluded life had changed the Eldorne family and whilst it was probably too late for some of the older generations, Aoife dreamed that she could perhaps liberate her younger cousins, offering them choices and opportunities in life.

Despite being Eldorne's final hope, her departure had not been a tear-jerking moment. Most of her family had not even bothered to wave her off. Instead her father and mother had kissed her dutifully before bundling Aoife into the carriage and hurrying back into the solitude of their rooms.

The carriage passed busy streets, their vendors all clamouring to sell their wares. The vitality and colour of the city overwhelmed Aoife and she sat back in her seat, head pressed against the back of the carriage. But after a few seconds the temptation overwhelmed her again and Aoife peered through the gap in the curtains at the people outside.

They were all going about their day to day lives with such vigour, and the noise! Everyone was talking to everyone else, casual comments; the weather, next-door's newborn son, the price of turnips down Riverside Market…

Used to her taciturn relatives Aoife stared open-mouthed at the citizens of Corus. _Mithros help me! _She thought, ignoring her private belief that the Gods had long since abandoned Eldorne, _is everyone so noisy?_

Aoife entwined her fingers and clutched her hands convulsively in her lap. She would redeem Eldorne, she would, she must…

All too soon the carriage came to a final halt in a large open courtyard to the west of the Palace. Taking a deep breath Aoife stood up and promptly knocked her head on the roof of the old carriage. Sitting back down promptly she cursed under her breath; something which she didn't do often.

The buck-toothed old man who had been driving her carriage for the last three days opened the door. Aoife stepped out, shielding her eyes against the bright sunlight. When the purple spots had cleared from her vision, Aoife looked around.

Thankfully no one had taken the slightest bit of notice that she had just arrived. Footmen were scurrying everywhere, carrying out routine tasks. She was slightly disappointed that Lerant wasn't there to greet her.

He had apparently written to her father to say that he was back in Corus after spending several years in the North due to the Scanran war. Aoife hadn't seen Lerant since he had left five years previously to become a Standard-bearer in the King's Own; a position he owed to Lord Raoul of Goldenlake's kindness more than anything else.

Aoife stood, feeling abandoned and lost in that dusty courtyard for over fifteen minutes before finally the buck-toothed man returned.

'Come,' he said simply, hoisting Aoife's trunk out of the carriage and heaving it across the courtyard and into the Palace.

Aoife followed, her bright eyes taking in everyone and everything around her. Her heart beat a fast rhythm inside her chest; she was just waiting for someone to approach her, for something to happen to which Aoife had no idea how to respond.

Biting her tongue hard to try and maintain her unruffled appearance, she followed the man down a maze of corridors. This added a whole new problem to her growing list; how on earth was she meant to find her way around the Palace? It was a veritable rabbit's warren.

After what seemed like an age, they arrived at a wooden door in a plain corridor. The room that she had been allocated was as nondescript as the corridor leading to it. A bed was made up in the corner of the room. There was also a wardrobe, a mirror, a writing desk, chair, and a door that led to a privy. A worn rug had been placed on the floor as though in an attempt to brighten up the room –an attempt that had failed dismally.

The old man deposited her trunk at the foot of the bed and left without another word. Aoife stood in the middle of the room gazing round at her new quarters. It had an empty, unwelcoming feel about it. She decided, after several moments that she would have to make it feel more homely, like her room at Eldorne, squirreled away in the roof and painted in varying shades of forest green by herself and Reagan.

Knowing full well that she could not paint the plain white-washed walls of her bedroom, Aoife began to unpack. She hung Delia's dresses in the wardrobe, folded her underclothes into a draw and placed a solitary portrait on the mantel piece of a small hearth.

It was a picture of Reagan, Lerant and Aoife, that had been painted by Reagan himself as a present to Aoife. In the picture she was about nine, all shining eyes and flowing hair. Lerant was about thirteen with his floppy brown air falling over his tanned face. His brown eyes gazed at her with a calculating look, embodying the very spirit of Lerant, not just his looks; which were incidentally perfect down to his firm chin and snub-nose. Finally her gaze settled on her second brother. Taller than the other two, with his arms slung around his younger siblings' shoulders, Reagan's fiery hair and bright green eyes were exactly as they were fixed in Aoife's memory.

_Reagan must've painted it in the year before he left,_ mused Aoife, remembering suddenly. She hadn't seen her brother for seven years. Seven long years without that cocky grin or hearty laugh.

Sighing she turned away, tearing her eyes off of the lifelike picture. As she dropped her gaze, she caught sight of an envelope sitting innocently on the writing desk. Aoife scooped it up, opened it and began to read the untidy scrawl.

_Aoife, _

_I can't believe you're going arrive today. You, in Corus!_

_I haven't seen you for so long and I suppose you're all grown up, but anyway, if you're reading this then you've arrived safely. Father didn't specify when you'd be arriving, but if you come to the headquarters of the King's Own and ask someone they'll come and find me. I can't wait to see you,_

_Your brother,_

_Lerant_

Aoife smiled; at least someone was looking forward to seeing her. She re-read the letter again and some of her initial excitement faded. '_The headquarters of the King's Own,' _how in the name of the Black God was she meant to find that?

Ignoring this rational thought, Aoife took off of her travelling dress and entered the privy. Like the bedroom it was plain and simple but Aoife decided that she didn't really care. She washed herself carefully using a sponge and a basin full of water; she'd have a proper bath later, and returned to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel.

From the wardrobe she selected a petticoat, a forest green shift and a brown over-dress that had smatterings of green embroidery down it's length, curling into leafy shapes. Dressing herself carefully, and lacing up the front of her dress, Aoife looked at her reflection in the scratched mirror. Collecting some small, brown shoes to complete the ensemble, she reached for a small box of face paint.

Not that her pretty Eldorne features needing much enhancing; Aoife rouged her cheeks, reddened her lips and smudged some kohl around her eyes to emphasize their startling brightness.

Finally she twisted up her dark brown hair into a loose bun, allowing some to drape over her shoulders and she pinned it in place with two tarnished silver pins that had once belonged to her grandmother.

Finally she picked up the key that lay on the desk, and tucked it into a hidden pocket of her dress, leaving the room without a backwards glance.

She wandered down the corridor, hoping against hope that she wouldn't end up anywhere that she wasn't supposed to be. Soon she came to a staircase. Now completely disorientated, she continued down to the ground floor of the Palace. She wandered up the next corridor, took a right, then a left and then another right. She could hear people talking and laughing behind the doors that stood to her left and right, but she didn't have the courage to knock and ask for directions.

Aoife back-tracked hoping to find some sort of obvious passageway that she might've missed, despairingly she resolved to ask someone. She noticed a door that stood slightly ajar and she could hear voices floating out through the crack.

Steeling herself, Aoife knocked and pushed the door open. She gazed around the room and inwardly blushed. Wherever she was, she appeared to have just interrupted the pages' -she glanced at the board- mathematics lesson.

Aoife tried to ignore the staring gazes of the fifteen or so pages that were openly gaping at her, and turning to the teacher, who was dressed in strange Orange robes, she said politely;

'I'm dreadfully sorry to interrupt, but I've only just arrived at the Palace and well…I'm lost.' She hadn't meant to sound quite so foolish and she fought to keep the rising colour from her cheeks.

'Very well,' said the teacher, casting a glance around the room. 'Lachran, you seem to have a better grasp of these quadratics than your fellows, please will you escort this lady to wherever it is she needs to be.'

A boy, who seemed to be about thirteen, nodded and stood up, upon exiting the room he bowed,

'Lachran of Mindelan, at your service.'

'Aoife of Eldorne,' she said as she curtsied politely back.

Lachran's eyes widened, but he made no comment.

'I was wondering whether you could show me to the headquarters of the King's Own?' asked Aoife, screwing up her toes with embarrassment.

'It would be a pleasure,' he replied courteously and set off down the corridor. Aoife was content to walk in silence, ignorant of the awkward silence which Lachran seemed to be struggling to break.

'It's just down here,' he said and led her down another corridor, 'don't worry,' he added, mistaking her silence for shame, '_everyone _gets lost when they first arrive.'

Aoife made no comment and they lapsed back into the silence which was broken only by the soft tread of their leather-made shoes upon the stone floor. After about ten minutes they left the Palace through a huge set of oak doors and Lachran led Aoife down a stone path.

The path led to a huge courtyard on one side of which there appeared to be the largest set of stables that Aoife had ever seen. There was also a large building which she hazarded a guess at being barracks. There were practise courts in plain view and men milled around, tacking up horses or simply chatting to other men.

Aoife felt quite uncomfortable as she crossed the courtyard, aware of many sets of eyes upon her feminine figure. She heard someone wolf-whistle, but ignored it. Lachran led her into a small administrative building.

'Well…um…this is it,' he supplied nervously, 'the headquarters of the King's Own.'

Aoife thanked Lachran who scarpered immediately. Aoife approached the desk.

'Excuse me, but do you know where I might find Lerant of Eldorne?' she asked the balding man who was shuffling papers.

'Lerant is in the Mess,' called a man from behind Aoife. She turned around to face the man who'd just walked in through the door. Despite having not had much experience with men, Aoife could tell that this one was exceptionally good looking. He had floppy brown hair, crystal blue eyes and an easy-going smile.

Before Aoife could open her mouth to stutter about why she wanted to find Lerant, the man was speaking again.

'If you'd like to follow me,' he said opening a door to his right and smiling, revealing straight white teeth.

Aoife stepped through the door and he steered her up the corridor and through another door into a large room. There were many long tables and the air was abuzz with noise. Being mid-afternoon there was no food being served and instead men sat and lounged on benches and chairs playing cards or talking amiably.

He led her over to a table in the far corner. Aoife almost cried out when she spotted Lerant, engaged in what appeared to be a fierce arm-wrestle. Aoife waited patiently as the combatant's muscly arms strained to exert the greater force.

The handsome man who had bought her to Lerant, sat down and wrapped an arm around the waist of Lerant's opponent. Aoife was startled, _what in the name of Tortall was going on?_

Just then Lerant's arm gave way and slammed into the table and the two released hands massaging their forearms, Lerant muttering about Knights.

'Lerant?'

All three of the seated soldiers turned to face Aoife and she realised with a shock that Lerant's victor was in fact a woman, a woman whose hazel eyes, framed by long eyelashes, now stared up at her.

Lerant jumped to his feet and leapt around the table to embrace his sister. When they broke apart, he held Aoife at arms length.

'By Mithros I almost didn't recognise you!' he exclaimed.

_Lerant looks different too, _thought Aoife. He had filled out somewhat since she'd last seen him and he seemed quicker to smile than Aoife had ever seen him. His clothes were of good quality and she noticed that he wore brand new leather boots; life in the King's Own obviously suited him.

The handsome man, his arm still around the lady, coughed.

'Going to introduce us Lerant?' he asked, raising an eyebrow.

'This is Aoife, my sister.'

'Aah,' said the blue-eyed man with a sigh, 'I knew she was too good-looking to be courting you.'

Lerant took a swipe at him, but he ducked out of the way laughing. Aoife blushed at the man's compliment.

'Now look, you've made her embarrassed,' said the woman kindly, 'just ignore him, Aoife, it runs in the family.'

Aoife took a seat; unsure as to what precisely it was that ran in the family, when another man arrived.

'I thought I might find you bruisers in here,' drawled a voice. 'For a serious deficit of intelligent conversation I regretfully find myself drawn to your company,' he said dramatically, sitting down with a sigh and dropping all airs and graces said;

'What runs in my family? Good-looks, good manners-'

'A tendency to over dramatize things,' slipped in Lerant.

'Hey,' said the two supposedly related men.

'Are you two brothers?' asked Aoife, looking confusedly at the two men who appeared to be of similar age and hoping that someone would introduce the three strangers.

'Cousins,' grunted the blue-eyed man in mock disgust.

'Sorry,' said Kel, 'we're being so rude. This is Domitian of Masbolle, or Dom,' she said indicating the blue-eyed man who was now holding her hand, 'and this is Sir Nealan of Queenscove,' said Kel, gesturing to the green-eyed man lolling on a chair, who also happened to be very handsome.

'And this is dearest Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, Protector of the Small, who is my best friend and currently courting my deranged cousin,' supplied Neal.

Friendly banter followed this remark, Kel protesting how she was not 'the Protector of the Small' and how Dom was not deranged.

'Well you introduced me as _Nealan_, so I thought I might as well do the whole thing properly.' To Aoife he turned and said, 'call me Neal, only-'

'My least favourite aunt calls me Nealan,' chorused the other three, causing a smile to break across Aoife's face at the sight of Neal's long-suffering look.

'And whose pleasure of company do we have?' asked Neal, who had missed the initial introduction.

'This is my sister, Aoife of Eldorne,' supplied Lerant.

'Aoife,' repeated Neal as though trying out the name, 'unusual name, how do you spell it?'

'Neal,' groaned Dom, 'only you would ask that. It's obvious isn't it? It's I-F-E-E.'

'No,' said Kel, 'I thought it would be A-Y-F-E-E.'

'I was thinking of E-Y-E-F-E-E or A-I-F-E-E.'

Lerant snorted, 'No-one can ever spell it.'

'It's A-O-I-F-E,' interjected Aoife, smiling at the various combinations they had come up with.

'What a lot of vowels!' exclaimed Neal.

'I've said the same thing myself many times,' replied Aoife gradually beginning to relax in the company of Kel, Dom and Neal.

Maybe life at the Palace wouldn't be so bad after all; it certainly seemed like these people accepted Lerant and didn't seem to care about his traitorous aunt. Aoife sat contently watching the group talk; although it was mainly Neal and Dom making witty remarks at each other, for Kel seemed to be slightly less vocal about her opinions and appeared to be enjoying the conversation for all that she did not contribute a great deal. Her gaze then fell on Lerant who had been staring at her. Aoife could tell that he was desperate to ask questions, perhaps about the state of affairs or the crumbling family relations in Eldorne.

Wisely, in Aoife's opinion Lerant did not mention anything about Eldorne in company. Maybe he was ashamed of their fief. _Mithros knows I am! _Thought Aoife. Although they knew that it was the fault of no living person, seeing the people so…_alive_ here in Corus had made Aoife realise how bad the situation was in Eldorne. Their repressed subjects and even the Eldorne family who was drifting silently into the madness of their solitude and despair at their situation.

Aoife was jerked out of her reverie by the shadow of a large man falling across the table. She looked up at him, at his rosy cheeks and dark eyes. His eyes fell upon her; the stranger at the table and he gasped, stopping mid stride.

All eyes went from Raoul and then to Aoife. Realising that Dom, Neal, Kel, Lerant and several other men sitting nearby were staring at him, he continued forward to seat himself next to Neal.

'I'm sorry,' he apologised, 'you look like someone I once knew.'

'You knew my Aunt,' said Aoife, her heart sinking -the man looked old enough to have done so.

Kel, Neal and Dom were still looking confused.

'Yes I'm told I look a lot like _her,'_ said Aoife bitterly, in a tone that made the others glance at her in surprise.

'Well,' said the man, seeming to have recovered from his shock, 'you look alike but now I think about it your hair is darker and your eyes are definitely different.'

'I count my blessings,' retorted Aoife.

'Lord Raoul, this is my sister Lady Aoife,' said Lerant, obviously deciding that there needed to be no explanation as to which fief she was from.

'That's A-O-I-F-E,' added Neal helpfully.

'So you knew our thrice-cursed Aunt,' said Lerant, it was not a question.

By now Kel, Neal and Dom seemed to have cottoned on to whom they were referring. Raoul sighed and leant back in his chair.

'Who didn't?'

He seemed to be lost in thought for several seconds and then he chuckled,

'I once fought a duel with Gary –Sir Gareth of Naxen over one of her riding gloves. We got sent to the border to cool down, if I remember correctly.'

It was such an absurd anecdote, that Aoife couldn't help but liking this big, easy-going man who was obviously trying to ease the atmosphere that hung cloud-like between Lerant and Aoife.

'And then there was Alanna whom Jon kept making Delia dance with. Obviously I didn't know at the time that Alanna was…well Alanna, but the memories still make me chuckle…' he tailed away.

'And so you're here to be presented at Court, I take it?' he asked, his eyes kind.

'Yes,' confirmed Aoife.

'Well, good luck. You'll spend the entire summer dancing at Jon's ridiculous Court events.' Aoife's face must've become puzzled because Kel explained,

'Raoul here _hates_ any social occasion.'

Raoul grunted in agreement, 'I'm a Knight not a member of a dancing troupe.'

'Too right Sir,' said Dom, who seemed to have caught Kel's eye and was fighting to keep a straight face.

'Anyway,' the large Knight continued, 'I came in here to ask my dear ex-squire if she wanted to joust before supper?'

Kel agreed eagerly and together they left, deep in conversation.

'Mad,' said Neal, 'absolutely barking.'

Again Aoife's confusion must've showed because Dom explained,

'My Lord is the best Jouster in this whole cursed country; most men who joust with him end up bruise-covered having flown through the air on multiple occasions. Of course Kel is also very good-'

'That's still no excuse for _willingly _jousting with Lord Raoul,' insisted Neal.

As the cousins began to bicker again, Lerant caught Aoife's eye and gestured towards the door.

'Walk?' he mouthed. Aoife nodded and together they left the King's Own Mess.

When they were immersed in the Palace gardens, safe from the risk of being overheard, they spoke freely at last.

'I imagine this is all quite strange to you,' said Lerant conversationally as he steered her down a rose-covered walkway.

Aoife nodded,

'One seems to forget that _normal _families make conversation.' Lerant chuckled.

'So how are they all?'

Aoife shook her head despairingly, trying to put into words the complicated happenings at Eldorne.

'Grandfather is as reclusive as ever, but Grandmother did start sewing again to adjust some of my dresses…' Aoife made herself continue, 'I don't think I've seen any of our Aunts smile since they arrived at the Castle and I don't think that's having a good effect on their children. Father locks himself away in his study and Mother, who knows what she spends her life doing.' Aoife stared at Lerant hopelessly, 'and then suddenly, out of the blue they announce that I'm meant to fix this whole mess and restore Eldorne's fortunes by marrying a rich husband. Never mind that I haven't even had a conversation with anyone who wasn't family in my _entire _life…' she trailed away, blinking furiously. She had not come to Corus to break down in front of Lerant. She changed the subject,

'Have you heard anything from Reagan?' she asked, her voice filled with longing.

'Not so much as a whisper,' replied Lerant sadly.

They walked on in silence. _How typical of Eldornes, _Aoife thought sardonically.

'I still can't believe that you're actually here!' exclaimed Lerant yet again.

'To be honest neither can I,' said Aoife, 'I mean I dreamed of coming to Court but I never imagined…'

'You'll be fine,' he assured her, 'in a few days loads of ladies will arrive from the Convent and you can make friends with them.'

'That's just it,' said Aoife, voicing one of her worst fears, 'they've all been to the Convent, they've been _trained _for Mithros' sake, I've no idea if what I've learned is correct. I've only had minimal contact with the outside world my entire life. I mean, if I hadn't overheard Father talking the other day, I wasn't even aware that the War had finished!' she exclaimed, now letting her fears bubble over to someone who she could trust.

'In all my dreams I was properly outfitted and trained to be here. Instead I've been bundled into a carriage with a trunk full of my traitorous Aunt's old belongings and driven out of Eldorne, the only place I've ever known, away from all the people I've ever known…'

'You'll pick it up soon enough,' said Lerant reassuringly. 'Not everyone behaves like the villagers. Many won't care about our Aunt or her exploits and if they do, then they're probably not worth bothering with.'

He stopped walking and turned to face his sister.

'I'll tell you the truth Aoife,' he said seriously, 'when I first arrived here I was terrified and then Raoul got me the job as Standard bearer. And yes…people did ignore me and hate me for where I came from, but over time they get used to the idea and discover that really you're no different to anyone else. You just have to persevere and keep fighting. Obviously not in a literal sense for you, but I've no doubt that you'll prove yourself one way or another.'

_And again, _thought Aoife, _another family member putting blind faith in my abilities to find a way out of this whole mess. _She laughed inwardly at her naivety back at Eldorne, _how could I think this just "another challenge"? _

They finished their walk in brooding silence and Lerant escorted her back to her rooms and then left, leaving Aoife to her thoughts.

She paced agitatedly up and down her small bedroom, wishing that she could gather up her bow and practise archery; it always took her mind off of things.

Tired of pacing, Aoife flopped with a sigh onto her bed, an effect slightly ruined by how she delicately scooped her dress out from underneath her as she did so. _What would Reagan do? _She thought to herself. _Run away, _taunted a voice in the back of her mind. _Okay, so maybe he wasn't a perfect role model…but then who is? _She asked herself.

Aoife, knowing little of the world outside Eldorne had never grown up aspiring to be anyone. _Which was probably a good thing, _she reflected, and to her amazement she laughed out loud at her sudden mental vision of her trying desperately to imitate her Grandfather's reclusive nature and shuffling footsteps.

'You're yourself Aoife and there's nothing more important than that,' Reagan had once told her, when she had been accused by the older village children of being "traitorous spawn".

Maybe, just maybe she could get herself out of this mess simply by being herself? '_Where there's a will, there's a way.' _She thought, echoing the ancient proverb. _Well I've certainly got a will, _she thought, _so maybe, just maybe, there might be a way. _

And that thought alone was enough to sustain her hope, Eldorne's hope and give her strength to begin her quest; to return her fief to it's former glory.

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**(-a/n- **Please tell us what you think of our story so far by clicking that little button below and leaving a review ;D

**Confusedknight xxx**


	4. Madeleine Shepard

**-a/n-** Welcome to Chapter 4, written by **madeleine shepard.** Enjoy!

Note to fellow **Group Askew** authors: I wrote this all before I visited our account and saw all those plot ideas and clothing stipulations and such, and I didn't feel like going back and changing things. So, in the spirit of a true round-robin with no communication on those subjects, here is my chapter.

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Afternoon sunlight slanted across Aoife's forehead through the high window. She had not realized how tired she was after the three-day journey, and with nothing better to do than lose herself in her thoughts and fears, she had unwittingly fallen asleep. She blinked twice, clearing the sleep from her eyes, and heard it again. 

Yes, a knock. Definitely a knock.

Suddenly everything came rushing back to her. She was in Corus, in the royal castle, for the love of the gods. And she was here for a reason—not just to nap her afternoons away. She sprung up from the little bed and shook away the dizziness that threatened to topple her. Smoothing her dress and hair, she opened the door, where the knocking had become consistently louder and ruder. Despite her twinge of irritation at the incessant beating, she pasted a courtly smile on her face and flung the door open.

And promptly froze. The boy—man—standing there was more handsome than Nealan, Domitan, and her brother combined, but he didn't exactly look . . . nice. In fact, an expression of total and utter impatience and disgust flooded his features. His hair was the exact same dark brown as her own and hung in lazy loops a little past his ears, and his eyes were an intense, fiery turquoise. He wasn't really richly clothed, not decorated enough for court anyway, so she assumed he was a knight in training, but he was so tall she couldn't guess his age. She looked back up into his eyes and saw that his expression of disgust had been replaced with a rather vapid-looking awestruck one.

Wonderful. How many people in the capital city would be able to guess her lineage by just looking at her?

Ignoring her manners, she glared at the man, who recovered from his shock in enough time to return to his initial rudeness in the space of a blink.

This only made Aoife even madder. "Quit staring. What do you want?" Her voice dripped with her best impersonation of his sardonic tone, not really a feeling she was familiar or comfortable with.

"Well, my lady," he drawled, "I had come to escort you to the Great Hall for dinner, but it appears you may wish to continue being improper and go alone. Not that you are dressed for such an occasion anyway. Forget it." It was as if they were engaging in a contest to see who could be more rude to the other. Still, a little knot of excitement grew inexplicably in Aoife's throat.

Saving her from saying something she'd undoubtedly regret, Lerant rounded the corner, laughing with Nealan and Domitan. It would certainly take some getting used to, being around so many men near her age who insisted on laughing and looking cute. Aoife had never even had so much as a schoolgirl crush, owing to the lack of any boys who were not cousins or brothers in Eldorne. Good thing the impertinent cad in front of her would pose no such threat to her unpracticed heart.

"Hunter!" Lerant called out. The three friends made their way down the hall and greeted the tall man with a series of friendly handshakes and pats on the back. Aoife noted that in general, her new adversary was a little less silly and boyish than the other three. She crossed her arms, still glaring at him. Lerant looked from his little sister to Hunter.

"Aoife?" He asked seriously, "Did Hunter bother you?"

She was about to answer when Nealan, Domitan, and, to her horror, Lerant, burst out laughing. Lerant put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her close.

"He's a little scary, we know. But he's mean to all the girls, and we figured he'd need to get over it someday. Did you accept his invitation to dinner?"

Aoife stared up at her brother with disbelief. This was his idea of a joke? To set her up with some idiotic, rude, impertinent . . .

"Lerant. I was not aware," she shot an icy stare at Hunter, "that it was an invitation. And I do not appreciate being made fun of, even for my less than desirable lineage, sir."

For a moment no one spoke, and Aoife could tell Lerant had not expected this twist in the situation. Well, serves him right. He hasn't had to deal with a sister for many years, and he might as well learn early that she was not another arm-wrestling knight like that Kel person. Aoife was a lady, here to get a husband, and that's what she'd do. Even if she felt like stringing her bow and sticking a few arrows in Hunter.

As if he could read her mind, the taller man turned.

"My lady. I am sorry for the trouble your brother and his impudent friends have caused, and any disrespect I have shown you." He didn't sound like he meant it. "If it is so terrible a thought to you to sit near me at the dinner, I will remove myself here and now, but I must insist that you give me one dance."

How odd. The way he looked at her, his intense, angry eyes burning into her, distracted her. She felt herself nod once, snootily, and Hunter turned and stalked down the hall. Alone with the others, she took the opportunity to wallop Lerant on the arm, hard.

"Lerant!! I can't believe you! Why would you ever think I'd dine next to him?" She cast a disgusted look after the empty hallway where the cad had taken his exit.

"Well, little Aoife, I was merely trying to do a little brotherly matchmaking. Iaian Hunter is one of the best mages in Corus, favored by the king. He may not have a great inheritance waiting for him or a nice fief, but neither does Numair Salmalin, and he's done quite well for himself. They're a lot alike, actually. Excepting that Master Salmalin doesn't scare the socks off little girls. And you must admit that you both have names with an unnatural amount of vowels." As if that were a good reason to court someone.

Aoife scoffed. She considered the new information. She could do better than a nasty mage whose wealth was dependent on King Jonathan's mood. Even though she had planned to wear something a little more formal and tempting for her first court dinner, she decided vindictively to stay in her brown and green dress. "I'm not such a little girl anymore, Lerant. Let's go to dinner."

* * *

As soon as Aoife entered the Great Hall, she wished she had changed clothes. Gaping, she stopped abruptly and fell onto Lerant's instep. Laughing, he grabbed her shoulders and set her upright. The Hall was ablaze with candles and torches and glinted gold and maroon with wealth and privilege. All of the things Eldorne had once been a part of. Every flat surface was covered with delicious-smelling food: racks of lambs, spiced potatoes, exotic fruits, coffees, wines, whole roast pigs, soups, round flat breads; enough to make everyone in Eldorne drool with jealousy. Pigeon Pie was one thing—this was entirely another. Hardly anyone was sitting; they were all milling about, chatting, laughing, being human. Aoife felt the life of the room rush into her blood, eradicating the stoic, boring feeling that was so distinctly Eldorne. But just as she was awestruck by the Great Hall, it was struck by her. 

She was not so very tall, so only about half of the room could see her, arriving as she did from the main door lofted three or four steps above the floor. Still, that half of the room nearly froze, their voices trailing off, dropping into whispers, eyes widening and glances passed.

This was the moment. This was Aoife's chance to return to court and prove to the world that Delia was not the only thing Eldorne could produce. That not everyone in her family was traitorous.

So Aoife did something her aunt would have never done. She blushed and smiled the most timid, ridiculous smile she could and shrunk behind Lerant's taller form. Thinking of her wardrobe full of Delia's immodest dresses, she decided then and there to sew panels in the busts to cover her collarbone. Maybe her neck too. Out of style though it was, it was not in Aoife's nature to flounce about as her aunt had done, in red lipstick and almost falling out of her clothes. She would get her husband and save her fief in a proper way.

She recovered herself just as yet another handsome boy approached. He was not nearly as tall or old as Iaian Hunter, but he was somehow familiar. Clueing in on his excessively formal attire, Aoife imagined that he was higher up in the food chain than the knights and the mage. An immensely friendly smile lit his face up from the pale shade hidden behind his ruddy blush. A mop of red hair flipped about on top of his head, and Aoife knew why he looked familiar. He reminded her a lot of Reagan, but his eyes were blue, not green, and Reagan would never be dressed like a prince.

"My lady!" The boy bowed low in front of Aoife, who stood numbly for a moment before realizing she should curtsy.

Lerant again broke in to save her. "Aoife, this is Prince Liam, second son of King Jonathan and Queen Thayet. Prince, this is my sister Aoife of--"

"Pleasure to meet you, Aoife! May I have a dance later this evening?"

Aoife thought fast. What do you say to princes? Obviously yes.

"I would be more than delighted, Prince Liam." Before they could exchange another polite bow and curtsy, a swarm of little blonde twits descended on the prince.

"And those," remarked Lerant under his breath, "are the rest of the debutantes just arrived this year." Aoife observed them with a sinking dismay. They were all dressed in bright pinks and seafoam greens, flouncing with ribbons and flashing with clear crystals all over. Exactly opposite of Aunt Delia's deep, seductive forest greens and racy maroons.

This would be much harder than she thought. She watched Liam's face as he chatted with the girls. He was immaculately polite to them, even though he probably knew he would be the most eligible bachelor for the silly gaggle of geese. Suddenly, he flicked his eyes towards Aoife and held her gaze. His friendly stare was nothing like Iaian's, it was more joking than intense, but she was sure she was not mistaken. He was making fun of the girls around him and letting her know he thought her the best choice of the room, all in a single gaze. She had caught the eye of the prince. Maybe this job wouldn't be so hard after all.

* * *

Aoife didn't see Prince Liam or Iaian Hunter at all for the next three days. However, the memories of her short dances with them after her formal introduction to the Corus Court replayed over and over in her mind. Well, at least Prince Liam's. He was such a nice boy. And Hunter had hardly said anything during their waltz, but she could feel the air of indifference that radiated from him and blanketed her. Of course he would wear all black and stick out like a sore thumb in a crowd of ribbons and white. Not that she was wearing anything brighter. He was like a pebble in a shoe—kind of annoying, but sometimes, it was sort of like a foot massage, and those weren't all bad. And there was something kind deep in those turquoise eyes, something he was hiding behind that façade of sullen anger. She shook herself every time she thought of it. 

Aoife quickly made acquaintances with the other girls new to court: Polly, Maggie, and Plum. Secretly she had nicknamed the airheaded girls Silly, Millie, and Dumb. She ate with them at every meal, took meaningless walks around the courtyards, or sat in their rooms embroidering with them. Well, they embroidered. She poked a needle at the cloth and pretended to be embroidering.

At first, Aoife thought that court would be more exciting that Eldorne Castle by a factor of one-hundred. Truthfully, after the grand ball of her first night, it was very much the same. There were always knights and pages and squires running all over the place, going from class to class, having squirmishes on their lunch breaks. For the debutante girls, if no one was visiting them, they didn't really have much to do.

Aoife soon learned that freshman debutantes were not in high demand. The older girls, ones who had smiled and beguiled their way into the hearts of the nobles and the king and queen themselves, were often invited on hunts with the knights or to cozy lunches with Queen Thayet. Everyone seemed to leave Aoife, Silly, Millie and Dumb well alone. If it were not for Lerant and his boisterous friends, Aoife would have died of boredom.

She woke on her fourth day at the palace with a severe case of cabin fever. She had managed to collect a few tapestries and decorations to make her little room a little homier, but it still felt like a prison. Aoife grabbed her bow from it's hiding place under the bed and her quiver of arrows from the darkest corner of her wardrobe. She didn't know what would happen if she were caught in her breeches and riding shirt, but there was a good chance no one would recognize her. She had seen Kel and Veralidaine Salmalin out in similar clothes often enough to know it couldn't be entirely forbidden, but then again, they weren't courtiers. The pressure of being cooped up for nearly a week finally overrode Aoife's sense of propriety, so she stole out of her room at dawn and ran as fast as she could down the hill behind the castle, to the edge of the forest.

The clear air felt wonderful in her lungs after so many nights of candle smoke. A light dew clung to the grasses, and the sun was warming the chill of nighttime even as Aoife made her way towards the forest. For a while, she just took in the air, the sounds of the birds, and the sunlight dappling the ground through the latticework of leaves.

A few pigeons soared overheard and a pang of homesickness bunched up in Aoife's throat. Even though Eldorne was dull, she loved her parents and wanted them to be happy. She wanted her father to smile again, to not see those wrinkles in his brow whenever he thought of his treacherous sister. And she wanted Reagan to come home, to see that there was something worth returning to. So much depended on her year at court.

For the first time, Aoife felt bad about shooting the birds. At home, they would be put to good use and be eaten, but she was sure that here at the castle they had enough food. Instead of loosing her quiver into the sky, she did a little target practice with a tree a few hundred feet away.

Unfortunately, she was a little rusty. With one arrow left in the quiver, she had only hit six out of ten of her marks. The last one she was determined to sink. She choose her next tree and strung her bow, enjoying the tension in her arm, so full of power. The air was still and perfect and she squinted, went completely still, and was about to let go when something slippery wound around her ankle. Slippery and wet. A snake.

Panicking, Aoife released the arrow. She heard a scream and at first, she thought it came from her. She didn't think about it, her mind being on the snake coiling around her ankle. It was thick and deep green, and she couldn't tell exactly how long it was. A long time ago, a bratty cousin had planted a snake in her bed, and her father had given her extensive advice on how to handle the situation if it ever struck again. Don't move, just let it pass. She tried not to move, but her whole body trembled, and the snake felt it. I looked up at her with its yellow obsidian eyes, and Aoife screamed.

"Great Mother Goddess, girl, stop your screaming." Aoife opened her clenched-shut eyes to see none other than Iaian Hunter standing in front of her, the snake wrapped innocently around his left arm and an arrow sticking out of his right arm.

"Oh, Mithros, I shot you!" She gaped at him. He was still frowning, looking imperious and devastatingly handsome at the same time. Then suddenly, a smile shattered the gruff manner that was all she had seen of him. In fact, Iaian burst out laughing.

"Why are you laughing?" The feeling was contagious, she had to admit. Seeing him brightened by the smile was refreshing, and she realized he was more handsome than people must guess; he was more handsome than she had guessed.

He caught his breath for a moment and led her to a nearby rock, sitting down next to her and depositing the snake into the underbrush, where he slithered away inoffensively.

"Aoife, I'm a mage." She still didn't get it. All she saw was the tear in his shirt, where the arrow jutted out, and the little stain of blood on the sleeve of his shirt. No one had much of a Gift in Eldorne; magic just really wasn't a part of their everyday lives. She reminded herself that here at the castle, it was. Aoife watched, enthralled, as Iaian pulled the arrow out of his arm, wincing. Even magic couldn't lessen the pain of that, she guessed. He rolled up his sleeve as the blood pooled in the wound. Gripping his tricep right below the cut, Iaian closed his eyes and his lips started moving quite quickly. A turquoise bolt of lighting leaped from his fingers to the wound, completely obscuring with a flash of alluring blue-green.

When the light cleared, the wound was a little smaller, but still bleeding.

"I'm not that good at healing magics," Iaian admitted.

"Let me try?" Aoife surprised herself by offering. She didn't know why she did it, she certainly couldn't be more powerful than a trained mage. Something in her was itching to surface, though. She felt so bad about causing him pain. Aoife was not sure why, considering that they had a hate-hate relationship from the start.

"By all means." Iaian was looking at her, expecting an answer. Gingerly, Aoife laid her hand on his arm. Concentrating all her energy on the endeavor, she stared at the cut. Suddenly, a piercing headache split her head and the world swam around her. The last thing she heard before she before she blacked out was Iaian calling her name.

* * *

The next afternoon Aoife enjoyed a whole slew of visitors. Silly, Millie and Dumb came, twittering and offering clean hankies. A palace healer had stayed with Aoife much of the previous day, after Iaian had insisted on carrying her back. 

Aoife let her mind wander back to those few strangely delightful moments. She had come to with his concerned face peering into hers. The look of relief on his face was so real and the most intense feeling that had been directed at Aoife in . . . ever. And the wound had healed.

Judging by the pattern of sunlight on the floor, it looked to be nearly noon. Following the beam, she saw three envelopes on the floor, thin white parchment sealed with red wax. Aoife smiled and got up to read them. On the first was Iaian Hunter's spidery scrawl, and the second boasted the royal crest and the neat penmanship of Prince Liam. But it was the third that caught her eye. Instead of red wax, the wax was black. She unfolded it carefully, and read the words in red ink.

Little Eldorne,

I've been watching you. If you think you're going to follow in your wicked ancestress' shoes, you'll do well to know that there are those who will stop you dead in your tracks. But there are those who can help you, because Eldorne, among other families wronged by the great Jonathan of Conte, deserves better. Deserves to rise again. And it can't be done without blood being shed. I may arrange for us to meet sometime soon. But for now, just know that I am keeping an eye on you. If you insist on going about things like Delia did, and I can see you've already caught the eye of our young prince, even I will stop you.

It was not signed.

Aoife had been at court for one week. It seemed impossible that in such a short time she had gained two very different admirers, who could help her restore Eldorne to it's former glory, and one who could ruin everything for her.

* * *

**-a/n-** Iaian is pronounced the same as Ian. (ee-yan) Thanks to all you readers, and thanks **Group Askew** for letting me be a part of the party. Get ready for the next chapter!!! 


	5. Cry of the Wolf Child

**A/N** – Well, here's the next chapter. I'm sorry if it seemed like it took a little longer than the others. I wasn't here for the first few days after the last one was posted, and then I needed to recapture my muse and get up to speed. Xoxo, love you all.

Cry of the Wolf Child

The note had been on Aoife's mind intermittently for several hours, through which she replied to Iaian and Prince Liam, as well as asked for something to eat from the maid assigned to her room. She'd just been about to go looking for the maid when a knock resounded through her door. Straightening herself up and smoothing her gown, Aoife rose from her weary sprawl to see who called on her now. She was sincerely thinking about throwing a chamber pot at the twits' heads if it was Silly, Millie, and Dumb.

Therefore, she was more than pleased to find the maid with a tray of food for her. Ushering the girl in, Aoife spotted another envelope on the tray. After nodding her dismissal to the silent maid, Aoife fell upon the food. OK, so she didn't trip and land in the food face-first, but she did begin to eat in a way that said something about how hungry she was.

After feeling a little bit better, Aoife picked up the envelope and broke the blue and silver-inlaid wax seal. The writing was neat and precise, the letter's intent clear. Skimming it over first, Aoife went back to read it a second time, curling her legs up beneath her.

_Lady Aoife,_

_It is my sincere pleasure to hear of your healing abilities from Master Hunter. Assuming that you've had no training at your home fief, I would be greatly pleased if you were to come to the Infirmary Wing of the Palace this afternoon. You may accept or decline, but I would greatly appreciate a word with you._

_Sincerely,_

_Duke Baird of Queenscove_

Aoife was completely shocked, but pleased all the same. The Duke of Queenscove wanted a word with her? And what was this thing she was supposed to be accepting or declining? Thoroughly mystified, Aoife rushed to finish her food and change into a less wrinkled gown. Sifting through the few gowns she actually owned that she'd brought, Aoife quickly pulled on a lavender shift and burgundy gown. Pulling a comb through her tangled hair, she tucked it up into a neat coil and pinned it firmly to her head.

Exiting her room, Aoife paused for a moment. How was she to find her way to the Infirmary if she'd never been there? Shrugging, she decided to muddle along and ask for directions if she got too lost.

It took her forty-five minutes, two menservants, a squire, and trip up and down the same staircase before Aoife arrived in the Infirmary. At that point, she wasn't even sure if Duke Baird would _want_ to see her anymore. Still, she might as well try her luck.

The Infirmary was probably the cleanest area of the castle. _Of course, it would have to be_, mused Aoife as she looked around. _You couldn't heal a person in a dung heap._ She noted the herbal scents floating through the air with pleasure. Aoife was an outdoorsy sort of girl, despite the fact that she was also a lady.

Heavy footsteps came from the back of the room, preceding a tall man who looked quite a bit like Neal. Aoife immediately dipped into a curtsy, remembering that Baird was a Duke. "Hello, sir. I'm Aoife." She was still unused to calling herself a lady, and left off the title whenever possible.

The Duke smiled and gestured towards the back of the large infirmary. "Why don't you come to my office and we can talk. I must say, I'm glad you answered my letter so promptly." Returning his smile, Aoife followed the Healer as he headed towards the back of the expansive room.

When Duke Baird pushed open a highly polished wooden door, Aoife dipped a quick curtsy again before entering the room when he indicated for her to go first. Inside the Duke's private workroom and study all was clean and neat, like the rest of the Infirmary. There were two stacks of paper on either side of his desk, the shelves filled with books, manuscripts, vials, powders, and models of the human anatomy. Blushing faintly as she caught sight of a naked man and woman, Aoife turned her gaze back to Duke Baird who stood behind his desk.

"Please, take a seat," he said kindly, hazel eyes twinkling with mirth. Apparently, he'd seen what had made her blush. When she did, he took his as well. "Now, could you explain how you healed Iaian's wound the other day?" He leaned forward, clearly interested.

Aoife bit her lip, a twinge of uncertainty pinching her stomach a moment before she began. "Well, I, I just did, sir." Truly, she had no idea how she managed to heal Iaian. She'd concentrated on making the flesh whole again, but not in any medical sense, and certainly not with images or anything. "I concentrated, I suppose, and wanted him to heal, really _wanted_ it." Aoife shrugged, unable to describe it in any other way.

Duke Baird chuckled. "Yes, healing does involve concentration. But tell me, how did it _feel_ when you healed him? Other than the loss of consciousness and all it entails, of course." A wry smile twitched the corners of his lips upwards. Apparently, Iaian had told him that, too, though Aoife couldn't really blame the mage if her condition had alarmed him as much as it seemed to.

"Erm," she began, once more uncertain. How had it felt? "I'm not sure, a sort of tingling in my arms and fingers, especially where I was touching him." Aoife had never been questioned this way before, but it wasn't entirely stressful. She watched with interest as Duke Baird mused a few moments, leaning back in his chair completely at ease. She supposed it was rare for him to find such new developments as a girl from an entirely Giftless family to develop a Gift powerful enough to heal with no training.

Aoife twined and untwined her fingers together in her lap as Duke Baird rose in silence and went over to his plentiful bookcases. When he turned back to her, Aoife's eyes widened at the moderately heavy tome in his hands. Presenting it to her, Duke Baird retook his seat behind the desk. "That, I believe, will help you if you wish to explore how far this healing Gift will go. That is, if you are willing to have me as a teacher?"

Aoife was immediately overwhelmed with gratitude. She nodded emphatically, clutching the precious book to her chest. "Oh, yes!" she yelped, momentarily mindless of propriety and the fact that she was seventeen, not seven. "I mean, of course, sir! I'd be honored if you would teach me to heal!" Now this strange Gift of hers was not as strange or frightening as it might have been. Not with the possibilities now stretching before her.

As they finished their conversation, Duke Baird offered a time exclusively for Aoife to come any day or every day that she wished for tutelage. Simply glowing and wide-eyed with her happiness, the book of anatomy still hugged between her slim arms, Aoife headed back to her rooms to begin reading this new enchanted pastime.

As she turned down the corridor to her rooms, Aoife nearly ran into a tall figure swathed in dark clothing. Or not quite swathed. Once she regained her footing, Aoife looked up apologetically into Iaian's face. "Oh! Hello, Master Hunter," she said brightly, "I'm sorry. I was just on my way back. Was their something you wanted?"

Iaian's blue-green eyes seemed to glaze with shock for a moment as he surveyed her face, but then the expression disappeared. Having regained his normally self-contained demeanor, he replied, "Lady Aoife, I had just asked your maid if you were in, but she said not. Nevertheless, I wondered if you would accompany me on a ride through the Royal Forest. That is, if you're feeling better." He examined her for any sign of weariness. "You _are_ feeling better, aren't you?"

Aoife smiled again. She hadn't known Iaian for very long, but she supposed from her own experiences with him that he was very rarely ill at ease. "Yes, thank you, sir, I am feeling much better. And I would certainly enjoy a ride," she added as an after thought. "I was just on my way back to my rooms, to put this book away." Aoife began walking down the hall again, not minding when Iaian fell into step with her.

They walked in a comfortable, if slightly odd, silence the rest of the way to Aoife's suite. Iaian waited just inside the door for her to put the book down. When she took her tan riding skirt from her wardrobe, Aoife could only smile apologetically before she nipped into her privy and dressing room to change into her riding gear. When she'd finished, Aoife presented herself smartly in front of the mage, smiling again. "Ready, Master Hunter?" she queried brightly and gladly began the trip to the stables when he bowed her out of her rooms.

The walk to the stables was peaceful, and as tension free, as any conversation with the often perverse Iaian Hunter and equally stubborn, self-contained Aoife. When they reached the expansive buildings filled with horses, straw, and tack, they parted for a short while to saddle their mounts before heading out to the Royal Forest.

Aoife smiled as she took a deep breath of fresh air, the sun warming her cheeks and the sweet scents of tree sap and grass filling her nose. She only caught the barest glimpse of the smile on Iaian's face when she turned to look at him, before he displayed his usual, mostly indifferent demeanor. Laughing, Aoife kneed her mare into a faster gait, shouting behind her "Come on, Master Hunter! Lighten up and race me!" With a last chuckle on the wind, she was off, heading deep into the Royal Forest.

The sound of pounding hooves joined those of her own horse as Aoife threw a glance over one shoulder to see Iaian crouching over his horse's neck as they thundered through the woods. This race lasted until, breathless, Aoife pulled her mare to a halt in a small glade and collapsed to the ground beside a brook running along its western edge. Shortly, Iaian appeared through the trees standing guard along the edge of the clearing. Just as breathless, but a bit more controlled, Iaian dismounted to sit beside Aoife on the lush grass.

"You, Lady Aoife," he began once he'd caught his breath, lithe fingers futilely plucking at the grass, "are an astounding young woman." Aoife barely had the breath to smile, her inherited green eyes meeting the mage's unique turquoise ones in a stare lasting countless moments. She could tell he meant what he said by his eyes. Aoife was slowly beginning to learn to read Iaian's eyes as she might read most other people's faces.

"Thank you, Master Hunter. But please, just call me Aoife." If someone had told her she would consider Iaian Hunter as something like a friend the first day she'd met him, Aoife would have laughed herself silly at the thought. But now, she could think of nothing she'd like better, in the peaceful, quiet moments they were sharing in that secluded glade. "I'd never bother with titles if I could help it."

Iaian smiled, tasting her name on his tongue. "Aoife," his voice murmured and Aoife nearly alarmed herself by thinking she liked the sound of her name when he spoke it like that, in those quiet, undemanding tones. "Well, if I am to call you Aoife, then you must call me Iaian. I too find that titles are a bother, and that Numair is more deserving of being called 'master' than I am." He leaned back on his elbows, his face unreadable as he watched her.

"Iaian." Aoife's lips pulled into a real smile this time, her chin sliding a little forward on the palm she was using to hold her head up. "Oh, but you must deserve your title since you are such a great mage!" she exclaimed incredulously. The idea of Iaian being so self-deprecating appalled Aoife. It was unimaginable for a girl like her to think that a powerful mage might think himself undeserving.

Aoife sighed inwardly, happy, when Iaian only smiled and shook his head. Giving up the futile effort of propping her chin uncomfortably on her hand, she let her shoulders and head flop forward onto the grass, her chin resting on the backs of her layered hands. Glancing up through her lashes, she spotted Iaian watching her again. This time a half-smile pulled the corner of his slim, if now sensuous, mouth upwards.

Suddenly, Iaian waved his hand casually and Aoife felt a slight weight encircle her head. Wonderingly, she lifted one hand to her hair and grinned broadly when the gentle petals of a flower chain met her fingertips. "There," Iaian ascertained, "flowers to match the rose of your cheeks." A shocked moment passed where both Aoife's and Iaian's eyes widened at his unbidden words.

Aoife felt her cheeks warm and new herself to be blushing. Casting her gaze back towards the earth beneath her hands, she muttered, "Thank you, Iaian." A decidedly confusing feeling washed over Aoife, something that was a mix of pleasure, uncertainty, appreciation, and another thing she couldn't quite put her finger on. Pushing herself up onto her knees, she glanced over to their grazing horses, the reins dangling to the grass.

Biting her lip with the uncertainty that lingered throughout her chest, Aoife coaxed herself to look back at Iaian. She first managed to study the scuffed soles of his equally scuffed boots, then scrutinized in passing the fabric of his dark charcoal breeches, which passed swiftly over his waist and hips. Rising over his chest, which Aoife noted (once more surprising herself) pressed pleasingly against his tunic, to his wide shoulders, up his neck, over his face, to meet his eyes.

What Aoife saw there was a new emotion she had not encountered in Iaian Hunter's gaze before. Had she seen the look in any other man's, she might have recognized it as confused affection, but she sadly did not. There were several moments of awkward silence in which Iaian pushed himself up into a sitting position, his eyes never leaving Aoife's and hers never leaving his.

"Well," started Iaian falsely bright after the important moment which had just passed, "I suppose you might want to head back to the Palace. Dinner-time is approaching, and I suppose both of us would like a meal." He finished it like a statement, but both Aoife and Iaian knew that it was half a question. She nodded and accepted Iaian's hand in helping her up.

After she'd regained her mare's attention, as the dappled gray was sincerely interested in the fresh grass, Aoife nearly jumped out of her skin at the feel of Iaian's hands on her waist. He'd come up behind her, but she rotated in his grip, her lips slightly parted. He lifted her up to the mare's back, his gaze only meeting hers once she'd assumed the proper riding position.

Aoife turned her mount back towards the Palace as Iaian remounted his handsome bay stallion, her gaze pointedly fixed on her saddle horn. _What was going on between Iaian and me,_ she wondered, not without a little concern. _What happened today that seems so important? I can't even put my finger on it!_ Thoroughly vexed, Aoife decided she'd think about it later, not willing to dwell on her unsettling thoughts now.

On the return journey to the Palace, conversation flowed more easily between Iaian and Aoife, both determined not to mention the words they spoke in the glade. For now, it would be a topic of puzzlement for the both of them, and not something to discuss. When they reached the stables once more, they parted again to care for their horses and attend to their own business before dinner. Aoife reached her rooms and found a letter from Prince Liam, inviting her on a picnic the following day. Aoife responded post-haste and changed into a lavender shift and navy blue over gown, settling down to read before the dinner bell was rung.

That night at dinner, Aoife was still filled with the joy of her ride through the forest with Iaian. She was pleasantly deaf to the mindless, idle chatter of the three twits whom she'd nicknamed Silly, Millie, and Dumb, otherwise she might have done something to regret later. Aoife also managed to find her way back to her rooms with no problem, and drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face, gentle whispers of thought floating through her head, of Iaian's smiling face, and the picnic Prince Liam had invited her to the next day.

The following morning, Aoife slept through the morning bell that woke the pages for training, only waking a few hours before noon. Once she realized the time, she nearly panicked at the thought that she might be late to the picnic with Prince Liam. Taking several deep breathes, Aoife calmed herself and set up a concise to-do list of what she had to do before heading down to the picnic with the prince and an unknown number of others.

Rising from her bed, Aoife washed her face and teeth, pausing to hurriedly running a brush through her tangled hair before throwing open the doors to her wardrobe. She carefully assessed each gown or possible outfit she had and its possible impression on the gathering she was to attend. Deciding on her soft pink shift and dark brown over gown, Aoife tugged the shift and gown over her head while trying not to think of Iaian's compliment on the rosiness of her cheeks the day before.

Rushing back into her privy, Aoife took the time to carefully untangle her hair and tie it back into a low horsetail with a silk ribbon that matched her shift. Leaving the few short curls that hung about her temples be, she went back to her wardrobe, donned her brown pair of shoes, and headed down to the kitchens to beg some bread as a light breakfast before she went to meet up with Prince Liam and the others she supposed must be attending. After all, princes did not have solo picnics with a newly arrived court debutante wanna-be. That was something Aoife had learned early at her time in the Palace.

Coming out into the brightness of the courtyard where Prince Liam had told her to meet them, Aoife was pleased to see that Silly, Millie, and Dumb were not there. Walking sedately over to greet Prince Liam and his companions, Aoife politely curtsied as required once the other young people had been introduced. After the pleasantries were aside, the group of them headed out to a quaint bit of field near the edge of the Royal Forest where wildflowers and butterflies were plentiful.

As the two servants brought along set up the blankets and baskets of food for the young nobles, Aoife laughingly joined in with the game of tag Lady Vianne of Dolphin's Reef had started by shoving Willem of Anak's Eyrie, who nearly fell over before pelting after the girl. Once they'd all gotten fitfully breathless and flushed, Prince Liam suggested they eat the food before it got too warm.

Aoife had a wonderful time, feeling at ease for once among nobles in better standing than herself. She even found some new friends, specifically Vianne and another young lady, as well as Willem, though he did pull off a decent hauteur. As the day progressed, Aoife found herself smiling more and more, and though she shared some amusements which only Prince Liam found as funny as she, Aoife noted in the back of her mind that this day couldn't compare to her ride with Iaian the day before.

Later in the afternoon, once a few of the older members of their party had left to return to the Palace for familial business, Prince Liam mentioned in passing the dance and dinner that had been scheduled for that night and suggested they return to the Palace for relaxation before the night's activities. Smiling with the rest of her companions, Aoife agreed, and was happily surprised when Lady Vianne turned down her hallway as well.

After saying a short farewell to her new friend, Aoife returned to her rooms – only a few down the hall from the young lady of Dolphin's Reef – and prepared herself for a relaxing nap before the dance.

When she awoke, Aoife stretched languorously and rose to change once more. Sifting through her more formal gowns, she pulled out the simple but elegant one in her house's colors. Once her maid had helped her dress and prepare her hair a little fancier than during the day, Aoife submitted herself to the polite but firm suggestion that she wear some make-up for the dance. The maid put light cheek rouge and a faint lining of kohl on Aoife's eyes, before gently applying a naturally dark shade of rosy pink to her lips.

Once all of this was finished, and Aoife gave herself a last once-over in the mirror, she thanked the maid and headed out to the dance. It was her second dance at the Palace, and though it wouldn't be as formal as the first ball she attended, Aoife was exhilarated and nervous at the same time. She wondered if she'd have any dancing partners at all and if she would be able to speak with her new friends at some point during the dinner.

Upon entering the lesser ballroom assigned for this party, Aoife gasped in awe. Despite the fact that this wasn't some important event, the room was still bedecked in all the splendor it deserved, as were its occupants. Now she was sincerely glad that she wasn't as stubborn as she'd been last time, when she'd refused to change her gown.

Heading over to a page holding refreshments, Aoife brushed shoulders with Iaian. She met his eyes, and it was a silent moment before her inner smile reached her face. She took a cup of juice and walked with Iaian to a quieter part of the room so they could hear each other. As they walked, Aoife noticed that he had not returned her smile, and a shadow hung over his features.

When they stopped Iaian cut right to the chase. "I noticed you were out by the Royal Forest with Prince Liam and others." It was a strange statement to begin a conversation between friends, but Aoife was obliging and nodded her head.

"Yes, I was. It was rather enjoyable fun." Iaian's looked darkened a little before he tucked his distress behind his icy mask of indifference.

"Ah, and did you enjoy the Prince's company?"

Now Aoife was getting much more confused. Precisely where was this conversation going? "Yes, it was pleasant, but I also met other young nobles. Lady Vianne of Dolphin's Reef, for one," making a split second decision to share the confusion and annoyance around, she went on, "and Lord Willem of Anak's Eyrie for another."

Aoife's attempt was rewarded. Iaian's countenance grew a little darker, but much to her chagrin, there was a sharp image of hurt in his eyes which cut her to the core. _Why was he feeling hurt in the first place?_ She thought mutinously. _It's not like I'm supposed to be his dependant or anything!_

"Yes, they are both close acquaintances of the prince, even friends." Iaian took a sip of his drink and glance out at the surrounding crowd. Aoife followed suit before turning back to him with her response. She was sorry she'd hurt him, but she couldn't understand why he was hurt by her making friends.

"Yes, but I suppose they are now my friends as well, as we were introduced by Prince Liam." What _was_ Iaian going for? He looked angrier and more hurt than before.

"So you're good friends with the prince, then?" Aoife resisted the temptation to stare at him incredulously.

"Not good, yet, but we do know each other and have kept in touch. He wrote me the same time you did after I was ill." This seemed to make Iaian not only hurt, but a little jealous as well, which was an emotion Aoife recognized anywhere. She'd seen it too many times in the eyes of her relatives and even herself when faced with scorn or things they could not afford but once might have.

"Hmm," was Iaian's only response and he returned to observing the crowd. As Aoife sighed heavily, she watched him, her brows furrowed. She liked Iaian for himself, certainly, but if he got this upset because she went on an innocent outing with others of her age, how would he respond if she began to accept suitors' pleas for her hand? She knew it would happen sometime, sooner rather than later.

Interrupting the silence that was becoming more strained by the moment, a tall young man approached them, his brown eyes locked on Aoife. She cast a glance at Iaian to see his cheeks flush a little with renewed anger as the young man bowed and began to speak.

"Hello, Master Hunter. Lady Aoife, cordial greetings." He took her free hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles in a courtly kiss. Aoife was astonished and she knew that even her cheek rouge could not account for the blush she knew she wore. "My name is Vishay of Arpad. May I humbly ask for this next dance?" Still blown away by Vishay's cordiality and gentlemanlike manners, Aoife nodded, cast a last glance at the now secretly fuming Iaian, put her drink down, and took Vishay's offered hand.

As she took her place for the next waltz, Aoife looked up the several inches difference to Vishay's molten brown gaze, the torchlight reflecting within their deep pools. His dusty blond hair was pulled back into a horsetail, one strand drifting appealingly over his brow. "May I say, Lady Aoife, you look rapturous this evening," he said, his voice pleasantly low, which sent unwarranted shivers up Aoife's spine. Their eyes remained locked and Aoife couldn't help but wonder precisely what she'd gotten herself into.

**A.N. - **Well, there you have it! The fifth chapter! I hope you all enjoyed this, despite how long overdue it is. I do hope you'll all forgive me, as I wasn't here for a part of my allotted time. Anyway, this was tons of fun to write, and I hope it was tons of fun to read. Stay intuned for the next chapter by our very own **Ayleia**!

A note to all Group Askew members, make sure to check in at the Plot document to review any plans we've discussed for our darling heroine and her search for matrimony.

Muchos love,

Cry of the Wolf Child

P.S. C'mon, you know you want to, just click that little blue button and send us a review!


	6. Ayleia

A/N: Chapter 6, enjoy.

* * *

The music wound a seductive melody throughout the hall, aimed at isolating the serenely dancing couples and creating an atmosphere for romance. Dancing in Vishay of Arpad's arms was exciting, yet confusing. Emotions Aiofe couldn't identify swirled around in her belly. They didn't speak and an uncomfortable silence started to form. Aiofe was acutely aware of Iaian's eyes burning a hole in the back of her head.

"So what brings you to court Lady Aiofe?" Vishay asked finally breaking the silence. He smiled down at her, giving Aiofe all of his attention.

Aiofe bit her lip, what could she say. Not 'I'm here to find a husband to help my family escape the shame Delia brought upon us'. Or maybe she could… "I'm here to prove not all people from Eldorne are bad and help my family regain its status in the world."

Vishay nodded, "An admirable goal. Arpad is not an old noble family, but we do very well for a virtually unknown fief. I'm here to get Arpad the respect it deserves."

"An admirable goal." Aiofe replied, repeating his own words back at him. They both laughed and began to chat about the culinary of their homes.

Preparing to ask Vishay more about his fief, Aiofe was distracted by a deep unfriendly voice addressing her. "And so the wicked house of Eldorne presents another female to the court. How are _you_ going to try to kill our king, Lady Aiofe?" Both Vishay and Aiofe's heads snapped towards the unfriendly voice. A man clad in green and black walked forward. "And you Arpad. You do yourself no favors consorting with an enemy of the throne."

Releasing Aiofe and stepping in front of her, Vishay's warm voice turned cold. "I will _consort_ with who ever I wish to, _Sir_ Donovan of Captains Ridge. Lady Aiofe has my complete trust; I know she would not try to harm the king."

Aiofe sighed and placed a hand on Vishay's shoulder. "I should go. Thank you for the dance." She turned to walk away but was forcibly stopped when someone grabbed her forearm. It was Donovan.

"Stay away from the nobles, Eldorne." He spat out in contempt, oblivious to Vishay grabbing the arm that held Aiofe.

Donovan of Captains Ridge was an extremely good looking man, but he made Aiofe feel like a rabbit caught in a hunters trap, like prey. His touch on her arm was completely innocent, but his eyes stripped her of her dignity and pride. Donovan's eyes were not a warm hazel or cool turquoise, colors she felt comfortable with. His eyes were a shade of grey Aiofe couldn't identify. They simmered – looking almost silver – but with what fire Aiofe didn't know. At this moment all she wished more than anything was for the waltz to stop and for Donovan to leave, so she could go back to Iaian or Vishay. At least with them she felt _safe_.

"Is there a problem Aiofe?" All three heads snapped to the speaker, who stood there arms crossed. Iaian's face held a deep frown and his eyes were ice cold. Aiofe could practically feel the power emanating off of him.

"Not at all Master Hunter." Donovan's voice resounded with an amused tone. "I was simply reminding Lady Aiofe of her place." He released Aiofe's arm and gave Iaian one last smirk. "You should mind your own reputation if you intend to associate with such riffraff."

"What riffraff, Sir Donovan? The Lady Aiofe?" A new voice spoke up. "I don't think so, for you would do well to remember _your_ place in this court. The Lady is a friend of mine and a friend of Master Hunter. Numair trusts Iaian's judgment and so do I. Watch your tongue." The Wildmage stood there, and the Lady Knight as well. They were both glairing daggers at Donovan. Daine aimed a snooty glance at Donovan, "You may depart."

Donovan shot a glare at Aiofe, bowed once and walked away, muttering under his breath as he did.

Daine then let out a giggle. "I'm sorry about that. Numair and I don't like him either. He's a really prejudiced noble; I don't think he really has anything against Eldorne personally, more the fact that they're still around and may regain their status."

Keladry also spoke. "My year mates and I hate him as well. He looks down on anyone whose family isn't in the Books of Silver or Gold."

"But Eldorne is in the Book of Silver." Aiofe protested, "We are an old family."

"A family that fell from grace." Daine replied, but not unkindly. "As far as he's concerned you have no status." The Wildmage sighed. "Tell me if he bothers her again Iaian and I'll do something about it." She addressed Numair's friend, she then shot everyone a smile and left.

"I keep an eye on him, I promise." Kel added. She bowed, and headed off in the same direction as Daine.

Aiofe had a small smile on her face; she turned to Vishay "I'm really sorry about that. Eldorne isn't exactly on the King's list of favorite fiefs."

Vishay smiled. "It's all right Lady Aiofe. I will take my leave though, I must prepare for an appointment tomorrow morning. I insist you save a dance for me at the next ball though."

Aiofe nodded, "I will, I promise." Curtseying in return to Vishay's bow she watched him walk away. Turning to Iaian she smiled at him. "Thank you for rescuing me."

He snorted, "I have no doubt you could have rescued yourself if you had your bow and arrows." Taking her hand he led her back into the middle of the dance floor.

"Possibly, but thanks anyway." Aiofe replied, laughing.

* * *

Walking to her room that evening Aiofe Mairi smiled. Dancing with Vishay of Arpad and Iaian had been a nice way to top off her evening. Although the _chat _with Donovan of Captains Ridge hadn't been too pleasant, it was nice to know that there were some people who didn't care what her home fief was.

Finally arriving at her rooms Aiofe paused for a moment, Iaian's hurt eyes from the beginning of the ball still lingered in her minds eye; her mouth twisted defiantly. _Why did he care whether I talk to other nobles!_ Suddenly though the upset she felt inside became greater when her memory turned to the fiery molten eyes that he had aimed at Donovan. It had looked like he wanted to turn Donovan into something awful!

Still lost in thought Aiofe didn't realize she wasn't alone in hallway until someone placed a hand on her shoulder. "Lady Aiofe?"

She jumped and spun "Oh, Mistress Salmalin. I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

Still in her dress from the ball, the older girl smiled down at her warmly. "It's okay, are you alright though? You seem troubled. I hope the incident from the ball isn't still bothering you."

"It's not, really." She sighed _I'm used to that kind of talk._ "I'm fine Mistress Salmalin, just lost in thought." Aiofe smiled up at the Wildmage who gave her one last troubled glance then nodded in acquiescence.

Turning to go she walked a few steps then turned back. "Not all of us hate Eldorne, Lady Aiofe. If you ever need to talk, you can come to me." Then she turned away again and left, her footsteps which were resounding on the floor fading into the distance.

Aiofe gave a small grin. Maybe she had more allies here then she thought. Entering her room she threw a glance at the desk drawer where she had hidden the note from the anonymous man. Then, shaking her head at he own silliness she began to prepare for bed.

* * *

The stomping of footsteps on the floor woke her up. Glancing around she reached to light a candle but groping around in the darkness, couldn't find one. Getting out of her bed she slid her feet to the floor. Then jerked them back in surprise, instead of the warm wood that clad her bedroom floor; her feet had met a cool stone. Quickly standing up Aiofe headed towards the direction she knew the windows would be in, but when she stretched out her hand she was met only with cool stone.

Suddenly light illuminated Aiofe's room and threw into sharp relief exactly where she was. A prison cell. Aiofe took in a sharp intake of breath. And then the light source emerged. Two guards, one with a candle were walking towards her cell. The one carrying nothing brought out a ring of keys and unlocked the door.

Entering the cell and walking towards her, the guard grabbed her arm and bound her arms together behined her back. The rope cut into her wrists harshly causing her deep discomfort. "Today's the big day _Eldorne_." He spat emphasizing her family name. Giving her a harsh tug, he pulled her out of the cell ignoring her struggling protests.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Please there must be some mistake, I haven't done anything!" Aiofe protested "let me go!"

The guard ignored her words and kept dragging her down the hallway, holding her tight despite her protests and struggles. Finally they reached a door and mockingly, he asked her "Ready." Not waiting for an answer he threw open the door and they stepped into the sunlight.

The bright light in contrast to the contrast of the dark room blinded Aiofe for a moment. Unseeing, Aiofe followed the guard stumbling over her own feet. Blinking quickly she managed to clear her vision and was met with a sea of dark faces from the crowd.

Immediately they were met with jeers and shouts from the large group of people. Aiofe's eyes snapped to them when she heard several familiar voices. There standing in front of the crowd was Daine, Kel, Learant, Liam, Vishay, Vianne of Dolphin's Reef, and Willem of Anak's Eyrie. In half shadow though, behind Learant stood a familiar face; "Reagan!" she shouted struggling with the guard that bound her. Her brother stepped back into a shadow and disappeared from her eyes.

Again Aiofe was given a harsh tug. She stumbled after the guard who had a grip on her arm. Glancing up at where they were going, Aiofe let out a sharp cry. Traitors Hill, where her aunt had been hanged. Now, throwing all her strength into her protest, Aiofe did her best to rip her arms out of the hold of the guard that dragged her. It was useless. She was unceremoniously dragged up to the gallows. A loop of rope was placed around her neck. Tears started to trickle down her cheeks as she thought about what was going to happen.

A dark laugh startled her out of her reverie and she glanced to her right. There stood Donovan of Captains Ridge. "I was right." He let out another chuckle. "Traitor." He was leaning agains the lever that would drop the plank under her and end her life.

"I'm not," she protested. "I never betrayed anyone!" her voice cracked as she shouted "Why won't anyone listen to me!"

"Because you're a liar." In hearing this familiar voice Aiofe turned around and was met with a pair of icy turquoise eyes. "Iaian." She breathed, immediately struggling to get in his direction. "Iaian!" she cried out, hoping he would help her.

He didn't though and only regarded her silently. Then he spoke, "I can't believe you would do this. I trusted you. Prince Liam trusted you. We all did. And you follow in your aunts footsteps. You try to kill the royal family. I guess Donovan was right all along."

"I didn't! Iaian! Please you have to believe me!" Aiofe shouted, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. "I didn't!"

"I can't believe I trusted you." Iaian's cold turquoise eyes hardened even more, if possible. He turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

"Stupid Eldorne girl." Donovan laughed and as Aiofe looked at him with pleading eyes, he yanked the leaver. The floor beneath Aiofe's feet fell out from under her and –

– Her eyes snapped open and she sat straight up in bed breathing heavily. For a moment she just sat there then with a soft cry she threw back her covers and walked over to the desk drawer where the not was stashed. Pulling it out from its hiding place she glanced at it.

_Little Eldorne,_

_I've been watching you. If you think you're going to follow in your wicked ancestress' shoes, you'll do well to know that there are those who will stop you dead in your tracks. But there are those who can help you, because Eldorne, among other families wronged by the great Jonathan of Conte, deserves better. Deserves to rise again. And it can't be done without blood being shed. I may arrange for us to meet sometime soon. But for now, just know that I am keeping an eye on you. If you insist on going about things like Delia did, and I can see you've already caught the eye of our young prince, even I will stop you._

Rereading over the note Aiofe let out an angry sigh. Then placing it back in its spot in her drawer she resolved to think about it tomorrow and make a definite decision. Then, yawning Aiofe walked back to her bed and slipping back below the sheets tried to sleep once again.

* * *

A knock on the door woke Aiofe up. Hesitantly, she placed her feet down and almost laughed when she was met with her familiar floor. "One second" she called throwing light blue cotton robe on over her clothes. Aiofe then waked over to the door, opening it she was met with the sight of Iaian. "Good morning" she greeted happily yet with an undertone of confusion. "Can I help you?"

Iaian glanced at her clothing and her mussed hair. "You just woke up, didn't you?"

Blushing Aiofe nodded in verification. "Two minutes ago."

Her visitor smiled, "Daine invited us and Numair on a ride to visit the bears. Do you want to go? Some other people should be there too."

Smiling brilliantly, Aiofe expelled her acceptance and walked quickly inside to dress. Iaian followed her sitting on her desk chair as she rifled through her wardrobe.

"A riding skirt and plain blouse should be fine", he commented watching her practically turn her wardrobe upside down in a search for something to wear. Then shaking his head he stood up and began to walk over to her, but something caught his eye. "Who's this?" he asked picking up the picture of Aiofe and her brothers. Glancing at him from her wardrobe she smiled slightly. She placed the tan riding skirt and blue blouse she had picked out down on the bed.

Walking over to Iaian she gave the picture a forlorn smile. Leaning over his arm she pointed out people. "This is me, Learant, and my brother Reagan. Reagan painted it himself a few years ago." Suddenly she realized the position she was in and backed away immediately, her face flaming

Iaian tilted his head and frowned. Then he shrugged placed the picture back in its spot, and turned to Aiofe. "Ready to go?"

Shaking her head, Aiofe walked back to the bed and grabbed the clothes she had laid out. "Why did you frown Iaian? Is there something wrong with the picture?"

The young man in question shrugged. "Your brother looks like someone I know, that's all."

Aiofe froze "What did you say?" It couldn't be… Could it?

"Your oldest brother, he looks like someone I met in Legann." Iaian walked over to her and gave Aiofe a gentle push in the direction of the privy "I don't want to keep them waiting, go get changed."

Ignoring Iaian's urging she spun to face him, grabbing his hands she looked at him with pleading eyes. "I haven't seen my brother in six years. Tell me everything!"

Confused at the ferocity of her order Iaian frowned then sighed. "You're not going to go get changed until I tell you, right?"

Nodding Aiofe tightened her grip on his hands.

"I met him in Port Legann; He said his name was Ray. He said he was a healer. We both went our separate ways after that. A couple months later I met him again in Dunlath. We hung out for a couple days, and then I left. Okay?" Iaian shrugged "I don't know if he was your brother. Now, Go. Get. Ready!"

Aiofe gave an overjoyed laugh, and beaming threw her arms around Iaian's neck giving him a quick hug. She grabbed her clothes and skipped into the bathroom, leaving a bewildered yet happy Iaian shaking his head and chuckling.

* * *

A/N: Well there's my contribution, next up: **Eaglefire!**


	7. Eaglefire

_Of course my computer crashed and burned a few hours or so after I got the job to continue... But here I am, with the chappie, the day before school starts... enjoy!_

_Eaglefire _

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Eaglefire  
**

Aoife and Iaian strolled down the hall at a pace that was swifter than usual, yet had all the nonchalance grace of some of their other leisurely walks through the palace. Aoife closed her eyes for a brief moment, savoring the feel of the heat from the sunlight dancing in through the windows on her face.

"What was he like?" she asked suddenly. Slightly confused, Iaian turned to her.

"Hmm?" He sounded preoccupied.

"My brother- well, the man you met. The one who just be might be- who looks like him," she finally decided on saying. Iaian smiled dryly.

"A bit like yourself, now that I think of it. Not necessarily your looks, though…. More of your… _outlook_… on the world, I would think. Except that he was perhaps a bit more cheerful." Pushing away a thought that wondered when she had seemed particularly grim to him, Aoife muttered an answer, more to herself than to him.

"He's not getting sold off like a cow on the market for Eldorne's sake." Iaian started.

"Beg your pardon?" When he looked at her, his eyes were odd, as if they reflected his innermost thoughts, though they were still secrets that were veiled to her. She blinked, trying to clear the feeling from her mind.

"I am here at Court for the same reasons as any other lady," she said in a mild, reasonable voice. "To marry and make Eldorne a fief of worth again." Iaian had stopped, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed.

"I suppose this would include frolicking with handsome rich men," he said in a contemptuous sounding voice that made Aoife wince.

"It would have to, yes…." He fell silent, watching her face with an eerily cold, calculated stare. "Iaian?" Aoife asked hesitantly, but he did not answer. After a moment of silence, he turned away abruptly and strode off down the passageway, forcing Aoife to jog to catch up with him before she settled into a brisk walk. Before she could decide how to ask what was wrong with him, he continued.

"And Vishay had won you over, what with his assets. I suppose that _that _would be more preferable to a sharp mind in your case. Thus the two of you seem suited for each other quite well, for he is neither brilliant nor are you demanding in those terms." His words were spoken in a polite tone, but their meaning was less than courteous. Confused, Aoife moved a step away from the mage.

"Of course not," she answered, hurt. "And I have barely met the man."

"Doesn't make up for your gazing after him like a-" Iaian cut himself off there, but now Aoife was angry. He had no reason nor right to speak so to her!

"No, Master Hunter." He stiffened, as if he knew he was in trouble now…. "Do not leave me in want for your analysis of my own situation! Pray tell what you seem to think of me! A- a-" She could not even bear to puzzle it out. She did not want to hear how Iaian held her in disdain, how he thought her- she did not even know what!

Thankfully, Iaian did not rise to her challenge. He only pointed to a stairwell.

"That leads to the royal stables," he said stiffly. "They should be waiting for us." Emberassed and suddenly miserable, Aoife followed his tall, solid figure down the steps, managing to pass him just before they turned the corner-

Aoife gasped, then made a hasty retreat, nearly stepping on Iaian's foot. He stared at her for a long moment.

"What is it?" he finally asked, dull and reluctant to engage her in conversation again.

"I couldn't-" She stammered, panicked thoughts rushing through her. "I thought it was to be Daine and Numair and a few others- Informal!"

"Anything the Wildmage does usually falls into the category of informal," Iaian remarked dryly before looking around at the party standing by the entrance to the stables. "And I only see the two of them, Onua- I do not believe you know her, the Riders' horsemistress- Keladry of Midelan. Buri- who is a friend of-"

"And the queen!" Aoife hissed in a rather shrill voice for a whisper. For indeed, standing next to a short, black-haired woman, was the unmistakable figure of Queen Thayet of Conte. "Gods above, what do I do?" Iaian looked at her for another long moment, as if unable to put his thoughts to words. Then he cleared his throat.

"I would suggest going up to talk to her," he said carefully. "After all, she does not bite. As far as I know." Aoife shot him a lofty glare.

"I will be the only woman in skirts," she said, refusing to reply to his last comment. "Even the queen- breeches!" Only the gods knew what the conservatives would say, seeing their group!

"My apologies," Iaian said lowly. "I assumed you would prefer the skirt to breeches. After all, you are the only one who must preserve her reputation." To her raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "Thayet is royalty, too high for the conservatives to do anything but fluster, and the others simply do not care what anyone thinks of them." Aoife made a very unladylike face. She was grateful when Iaian only smiled. Others might have frowned at her in disapproval. "Unfair, is it not? But that is the price one must pay to have everyone like you…."

"I'm not interrupting anything here, am I?" Aoife looked up, then jumped in surprise.

Thayet of Conté was beyond lovely, even though she was no longer the age of the beautiful debutantes at Court and would be considered a spinster if unmarried. Her nose was a little strong for her delicate face, but it was that small detail that made her seem real, and thus even handsomer than perfect features could make a woman.

Aoife sank into a low curtsy, and Iaian bowed. A small smile played across Thayet's lips.

"No, Your Majesty," Aoife said softly. "I was… surprised-" She fell silent, face reddening. The smile on the woman's face widened.

"No doubt by the sight of your dignified queen in breeches," she remarked wryly. "Hello, Iaian Hunter. Numair tells me you are a very promising student." Aoife turned slightly to see Iaian's cheeks flush.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he replied softly.

"Thayet!" Aoife looked up to see the smoky curled Daine the Wildmage stride over. "Iaian! Aoife!" She grinned and winked at Aoife. "It's a shock, isn't it? I remember the first time I saw our queen." A low chuckled escaped her. "I didn't even know who she was. I was… surprised, to say the least." Aoife laughed quietly. "The bears are not too far into the forest," she continued, turning to speak to all three of them. "I have asked them not to attack any humans, and they will, as long as no one attacks their cubs." Her face turned grim. "But they have scented unfriendly two-leggers. They say that they fear that these humans will not honor such agreements. I hope to find them after visiting the bears." Aoife watched the woman, reflecting that it was odd to hear a person speaking of talking with animals so casually.

"And then we will make sure they obey," Thayet said darkly, a frown twisting her lovely face.

"Don't worry, Thayet." The small woman who Iaian had pointed out and called Buri walked over, her eyes deadly serious. "Between us- Daine, Numair, his students, Kel, me… we shall have little trouble." Dangerous smiles- ones that seemed to warn folk away rather than welcome them- crossed the three women's faces.

Aoife decided then to stay on their good sides.

"Aoife!" Kel waved as the group walked over to join the others. Aware that Iaian was joining his fellow students, Aoife wandered over to the lady knight. She held the reins of a surly-looking gelding who glared at all those around him. She jerked her head towards the stable next to her. "Stefan said that this mare would be able to keep up with our horses, but she's still a well-mannered noble horse." Indeed, when Aoife brought the lovely, white horse- already saddled- out, she was very docile and lithe, altogether a lovely mount. Still, somehow, the way Kel had spoke of the mare made Aoife wish that she could ride the larger, more frisky horses that the others were mounting. Even the queen-

"I rode in- at home," she amended, not wanting to mention her fief.

"That's right," a young man next to Iaian said, loud enough for the group to hear. "Eldorne, right?" A smirk crossed his face. Aoife cursed silently as heat spread across her face. She grew hotter as Iaian leveled a steady glare at the youth. She saw Kel frowning out of the corner of her eye, and Daine had her hands on her hips.

"Wherever a person comes from," the Wildmage began icily. "-matters little, Master Jalis. Perhaps Numair should instruct you in such matters as well as your Gifted ability. We would not want someone unworthy of his teaching to receive it." Aoife flinched slightly; Daine hardly knew her, and she was dressing down a young man who her husband taught! What was she thinking?

"I- of course, ma'am," Jalis was muttering, face now as red as Aoife's. He bowed slightly in her direction, then in Aoife's. "My apologies. I did not mean any injury or insult."

But as he looked up, Aoife saw his blue eyes flash, and sighed inwardly. While defending her, Daine had only given her another enemy. Not that it mattered much; she had so many people at Court who leveled such remarks her way, and they would continue to do so, out of the hearing of those who chastised them. She saw Iaian still glaring at the other man, and she smiled in relief.

Whatever had been troubling Iaian earlier, he seemed to have forgotten. It was that moment that his eyes flickered to hers, and a small, crooked smile danced across his lips. Aoife found she could not break his gaze, and kept her eyes locked with his until Kel tapped her on the shoulder.

"Gods, one mention of your fief seems to stir up far too much trouble," she remarked friendlily.

"I wish folk would not make such a deal of it," Aoife murmured in reply as they both pulled themselves onto their horses.

"Tell that to Master Jalis," Kel said dryly, then rolled her eyes.

"I meant the ones who defend me," she said swiftly.

"Why?" The tart voice from her other side made Aoife leap in the saddle. It was Buri. Her keen eyes bore into Aoife. Uncomfortable, Aoife only shrugged.

"It makes a fuss, makes it a bigger problem," she said softly. Buri pursed her lips, obviously not impressed by her explanation.

"Not while anyone with sense is around," she replied, and Aoife had to smile. This blunt woman seemed to understand, better than any nobles did. "Most of us here-" She jerked her head around. "We've had our troubles. But keeping quiet does not help. Never did."

"_You_ never did," Aoife heard Kel mutter, and smoothed a grin.

Why did all these people have to be unconventional? If they were not, she could have spent all her time with them….

"It is a pity that there are no ladies like you," she summoned the courage to say. Buri cocked an eyebrow.

"Ah… but that is the point. We are refreshing because we are _not _the usual noblewoman," she explained. Aoife sighed.

"But there is no middle ground?" she heard herself ask. "I mean," she continued, not wanting to seem as though she were complaining. "I do not want to use a sword. But I do not want to be stuck with some of those…." She stopped there; she had no exact word to describe the petty majority of the Court. When Aoife looked back at Buri, the short woman's face was thoughtful.

"What did you do back in Eldorne?" she asked as they left the palace grounds. Aoife bit her lip, debating whether or not to reveal her less than ladylike behaviors.

"I… hunted," she admitted. "A little." Buri's eyebrows rose, and Aoife's stomach fell. Perhaps she should not have revealed that-

"So you can use a bow?" she asked. Aoife looked away.

"Fairly well, I think…," she said reluctantly. She missed the look exchanged between Buri and the lady knight, and started when Kel pulled a bow and an arrow out of a pouch on her saddle.

"Keep going," Buri called to the rest of the party. "We will catch up." Daine turned back, then nodded. "Now," she said, whirling back around to a suddenly nervous Aoife. "Take them, and show us your aim."

"From here?" she asked, gesturing to the horse. Buri nodded as Kel pushed the bow and arrow into her hands.

_Gods, what have I gotten myself into? _she fretted as she notched the arrow. _I could not possibly be any good in their eyes! They're fighters! _Her fingers were sweaty as she pulled the string back.

"What should I-?"

"That oak tree over there. About twenty feet off the path. To the left. You see it?" Aoife nodded, her hand nearly slipping as she turned to aim.

"What if I miss?" she asked worriedly. A small smile crossed Buri's face, and Kel's politely bland face twitched slightly.

"Then Kel is one arrow short of a full quiver," she retorted. "Now, shoot!"

The call was one she instantly obeyed, though she had been planning to recheck her poise. Not completely set, Aoife whipped around the rest of the way, lined up her shot, and released. The arrow flew forwards, to hit the bottom of the tree. Buri whistled lowly.

"That's the fastest shot I've ever seen from a real noble lady," she said softly. Then a sardonic grin flashed across her face. "Not offense meant, Aoife. You ought to be a Rider." Aoife blanched; she could only see what her family would say to that. A snicker escaped Kel.

"Right, then," she chuckled softly. "Perhaps not."

* * *

Iaian was only a few feet behind Numair and Daine when he heard Jalis mention him. 

"I can't see why he spends so much time with her," he was saying scornfully. A snicker came from another one of the impudent young mages.

"I can," another voice retorted, wicked laughter beneath the teasing sound. "Why any young man spends time with a young woman…. You must admit, bagging a noble, even a disgraced one, is-" Disgusted, Iaian urged his mount a few paces forward so that he could ride next to Numair, who smiled as his dark-faced student glared at the path ahead of them.

"Rumors, Iaian?" he asked in a slow, friendly voice.

"Is that all they think of?" the young man asked coldly. "That I- she-"

"Unfortunately, yes." Daine looked over at the steaming mage, then sent a raised eyebrow to her lover. "Gossips were ever so eager to put me in bed with someone…. You should have heard the matches they made." Her voice was dry.

"But- no offense Daine," Iaian said hastily. "Aoife is a noble. Why are they-"

"Surely you have heard tell of her aunt?" Numair queried. That silenced Iaian, though he continued to fume.

He? In love with Aoife? Surely not. First off, she was a noble, a noble who had to marry to better her family's position…. She was just a friend, a good one….

No, he could not, not after-

Daine's swearing cut off his thoughts as she stopped her gray mare and looked to the sky. Numair frowned and held up a hand for a halt.

"Hurroks!" Iaian heard Daine shout, and his stomach clenched. Then, the first thought that came to mind-

_Aoife._

* * *

Kel had just been retrieving the arrow from the oak when Aoife and Buri turned to see Daine, Iaian, and several others thundering down the road. Aoife flinched as they came to an abrupt halt before them; for a moment, she had thought they were going to collide. 

"Hurroks. About fifteen of them," Daine said coolly. Instantly, Buri dismounted, then roughly dragged Aoife off her saddle.

"Don't want to be a raised target," she said gruffly to the girl before turning to Daine again.

"About eight will be overhead in a few moments. They spotted the large group, planned a forked attack. Numair and some of his students will take care of Thayet and the others… not that they cannot fight," she added wryly. "But Jon might have my head if we left his wife to fend for herself." Clearing her throat, she continued, "They will not expect us; we knock them all out of the sky before they realize we are here." She saw the bow in Aoife's hands, then grinned. "Ah. I've been told you are a good shot. Now, who was that-?" Her dancing gray eyes alighted on Iaian. "Hm. Can't seem to recall-" Aoife stared at the wildmage, stunned. How could she be so light-hearted, so playful, right before a storm of hurroks was to attack?

"Relax, youngling," Buri said lazily. "The worry is being in the right spot at the right time. After that, this sort of business is very easy." She strung her bow and notched an arrow. "Take some from Kel's quiver. Who knows? Maybe we won't get all of them in the first pass-"

"But-" Aoife could not think of what to say. Everything was going too fast. She watched as Kel rushed back over to them and pulled her blade- not the usual sword, Aoife noticed- from its sheath.

"Don't worry that head of yours," Buri said, dry humor glinting in her eyes. "We won't go telling any of the conservatives that you aren't some empty-headed butterfly." A snort escaped Iaian, and Aoife shot a glare at him before she took another arrow from Kel's saddle.

After all, she might need it.

There was no warning. Suddenly, silent horses with wings and claws soared out from behind the trees. Aoife heard the soft _whoosh _as Daine released an arrow; the first hurrok dropped without a sound. The others did not even register the loss of their companion until Daine had shot another down. This one, however, dropped screaming, a sound that raised the hair on the back of Aoife's neck.

"Now! Mages!" she heard Kel roar, and colored flames sprouted upwards as the hurroks dived towards them. Aoife felt her stomach drop.

_Goddess, _she prayed, unsure of what to ask of the deity. Protection? Ability? Or just not to faint on the spot?

The last thought was one that her shrill, panicked mind voiced though- if she were honest- collapsing was highly unlikely. She watched quietly, following the mage fire as it missed or hit the targets. She noticed that Iaian managed to hit two when most missed, and a faint smile that went unnoticed by her crossed her smooth lips.

Two of the creatures dived towards Kel, who was slightly apart from the others. Whipping about, she sliced off a claw of one before leaping to the side, out of the way of the other. As it pulled out of its dive, she turned and slashed it across the back.

Aoife was shocked to see that she was not feeling ill, when the older nobility claimed that any cultured female exposed to such sights would faint. Perhaps she was not a cultured female, then-

The thought worried her for a moment, but then Buri shoved her to the ground as a shrieking immortal came at them from above. Shakily, Aoife noticed that there were more of them now, all keeping even the mages busy. As she stumbled to her feet again, distantly realizing that her riding dress was ruined, she would need to get another, somehow-

Daine had transformed into a huge bear, and Aoife was glad that she had known that Daine could shape-shift. She had forgotten where she had learned, but she was grateful now. _That _was a sight she was sure could make anyone pass out.

And then the action was done. Quiet filled the clearing again. Nerves taunt, Aoife surveyed the trees, noticing that the others did the same. The hurrok bodies littered the forest floor, a sight that made her shudder.

Then a rustle of noise brought her to swing up the bow warily. When nothing happened, she began to lower it, sheepishly-

Then a huge hurrok- the largest she had seen- swept out of the trees, towards Kel, whose back was turned-

Aoife heard Buri shout a warning, and pulled the bow up.

A moving target was harder, less predictable-

Not allowing herself to think about it, she released. The arrow hit the hurrok in the wing as it flew down. Screaming in pain, the creature stopped in mid-flight-

And that was all Kel needed. As she whipped around, she borught her blade straight across, cutting off the immortal's head. Aoife paled as the writhing body hit the ground in a splatter of gore.

Slowly, she sank to her knees, scarcely aware of Buri's glee.

"That was perfect, excellent timing- gods, don't I wish you weren't a noble righ' now-"

"Aoife?" Daine's soft voice was suddenly in her ear. Aoife felt the world around her spin, then roar in and out of focus. _Dear Goddess, _she thought tiredly.

"I think I'm going to stay here for awhile," she said softly, sitting down on the ground. Two strong arms grabbed her, then hauled her up.

"Oh no," Daine chuckled, eyeing her carefully. "Just don't faint. That will lower Buri's opinion of you splendidly."

"Umm," the girl said softly. "I don't _think _I will… I just feel a little dizzy…." Without another word, Daine- already clothed and ready to leave- and Iaian headed for the palace and the healers' wing.

"That will be set to rights in jus' a few moments,' Buri assured loudly, then turned Kel, fiendish delight in her eyes. "If I can't have her in the Riders, then wait 'til I tell Thayet!" She hopped up and down slightly, and Kel raised an eyebrow.

"Dancing, Buri?" she asked softly, taking the reins of Aoife's horse. "Maybe you should do to Baird, too-"

"Oh stop," the older woman ordered crossly. "You know just as well as me where she's headed." Kel pursed her lips, watching the trio leaving them behind.

"Thayet, hmm?" she said softly, then smiled.

Aoife was a nice girl, for lack of a better word. She did not deserve all the spite around her….

And, if Buri was right, then things would get better for the young Eldorne. _Much _better.

* * *

_(winces) That was a little long, wasn't it? My apologies... I got caught up in the action. Now, the story goes to you, peppermint-kiss234! Good luck (and no computer break-downs hopefully) and have fun (goodness knows I might just have had a little too much fun...)_


	8. Peppermint Kiss

Honestly, I think my chapter is just a linking chapter - not much plot but lots of Aoife and no Iaian. :( Well, hope everybody enjoys!

_Peppermint-kiss234_

* * *

**Chapter 8 - Peppermint-kiss234**

Aoife Mairi of Eldorne was falling, dipping and swirling like a feather, or a leaf, until she hit the surface of the water and the ripples shook her frail body.

She opened her vibrant blue-green eyes, steadily taking in the environment around her, her stance still but her nerves humming in anticipation. A bow materialized in her hand.

Aoife tossed her hair out of her face and stood up, the water dripping down her unladylike shirt and breeches that fitted her like a glove and were more comfortable than a dress. It appeared as if she was in a clearing, in the Royal Forest perhaps. Her feet, clothed in soft brown boots, barely made a sound as she stepped onto soft grass that swayed in the silent breeze.

She was here to do something, she was sure, yet what was she supposed to do? She had naught but a bow in her hand, a full quiver on her back, and her spirit.

A voice sounded, ringing in the air, sending a chill down Aoife's back. The voice was unearthly, like the belling of a thousand hounds; it was a voice that commanded power and respect.

_Aoife Mairi of Eldorne…have faith._

Aoife resisted the urge to clap her hands over her ears to block out the terrible, yet beautiful, voice. "Who- who are you?" she managed to choke out through the wind that had suddenly whipped up and the dust that barraged her face.

A woman stepped out from behind a tree, and Aoife gasped. "Great Mother Goddess…"

Pale perfect skin gleamed as the goddess neared Aoife and tilted up Aoife's trembling chin so that Aoife looked her in the eye.

_Prove yourself to the world, Aoife Mairi._

The goddess' touch sent a thousand red-hot sparks of pain flooding through her body, and the last thing Aoife remembered, faintly, before she started to fall into the intoxicating darkness again was that the Great Mother Goddess' eyes looked extraordinarily like her own.

* * *

Aoife Mairi of Eldorne wished she could wake up to a beautiful blue sky, marred only by a few lazy clouds. She wished she could wake only to the sound of the sparrows chirping, or the feel of the wind blowing across her face. She wished –

She wished that she could go back to sleep.

Aoife had instead awoken to a gloomy day, crowded with dull, grey clouds. It hadn't really been the sky that had awoken her, but rather the whinny of horses and the yelling of men as the King's Own gathered to leave to war in Scanra, conveniently under her window.

The clash of steel against steel as the pages practiced their swordmanship sounded like the pounding of Aoife's nerves as she felt a headache begin to stir.

Grumbling to herself about how pages had no concern for _some people_ who were trying to sleep, _especially _after having gone through a hurrok-shooting ordeal just a few days before, Aoife yanked on her breeches and a loose shirt, and grabbing her worn bow and her quiver, she stalked out of the door, uncaring about what the other noble ladies might say if they saw her.

It always helped to send arrows hurtling into innocent, unsuspecting objects when one was stressed.

* * *

It was soothing, tramping in the rather chilly fall air, and hearing the crackle of her boots on the frail, brittle leaves. A squirrel, it's teeth chattering at something or the other, leapt into the gaze of Aoife's steady eye, but she couldn't be bothered to lift the bow and shoot it.

The squirrel scampered off unharmed, for today.

Soon, a precise circle of arrows lay studded in the nearby trunk of a hardy tree, and Aoife herself was impressed with her work today. Maybe she should actually start getting up earlier just to catch the last breath of fresh, cool air of dawn before the heat that accompanied the actual day swept over the palace.

"Good aim," a voice remarked from a little further behind Aoife, and Aoife whirled at that familiar voice to see none other than Queen Thayet herself standing next to a tree, a strung bow hanging loosely by her side, dressed in breeches and a shirt of no higher quality than Aoife's own.

Aoife blushed and fumbled to pull a curtsy, which proved rather hard, given that Aoife didn't have a skirt to elegantly pull out and make a proper curtsy.

"Oh, stop it," Thayet said rather crossly. "I hate it when people that shouldn't curtsy to me do." She paused to sweep an unruly strand of raven's-wing black hair from her face.

Aoife grew acutely aware that it was only the queen (Aoife wondered where the ladies that usually accompanied the queen everywhere were), and Aoife in this clump of woods – unlike last time, when Buri, Daine, and Iaian had accompanied them.

"But your Majesty –" Aoife started, fully intending to explain, when Thayet cut her off.

"Please, call me Thayet. Everybody but the stuffiest of courtiers and footmen do, anyways."

"Yes, Thayet." It felt odd to address the queen of Tortall in such a manner, and Aoife still thought it was a bit queer to have met the queen herself on this chance morning in the Royal Forest, when Aoife had been doing nothing more than shooting at random, immobile objects. But she had met the revered Queen Thayet, the stuff of ballads and epic poems, the woman who had journeyed to Tortall with the Lioness with the Dominion Jewel and won over King Jonathon's heart. Aoife had only glimpsed her from afar during dinner sometimes, and during the riding party a few days ago. But up close, Aoife grew immediately jealous of how Thayet's skin glowed naturally, of dancing hazel eyes that had only the most miniscule of wrinkles around them, of a nose that was just slightly too strong for her lovely face, and full lips that blushed red without the aid of lip color.

Thayet regarded her oddly, then, before she spoke. "I came out here this morning, Aoife, to find you and request a certain favor of you." Her words were slow and almost hesitant. "Please meet me at my chambers at eleven o'clock."

Aoife didn't really have any other choice other than to nod, and dip into the best curtsey she could manage at that time.

Thayet nodded, satisfied, and with a regal air that unsuited her down-to-earth personality, she floated off toward the direction of the palace, leaving Aoife clutching her bow and staring after her, not in shock, but…interest? Perhaps even surprise, although she couldn't put her finger on why she was surprised that the queen had spoken to _her_, Aoife Mairi of Eldorne.

Aoife shrugged and left the subject as a dark, brooding cloud for now, instead choosing to try and tug her precious arrows out of the tree.

After much yanking and cursing, Aoife at last deduced that the arrows were stuck in the tree (and those had been some of her best arrows, too – she supposed that she would have to be more careful about which arrows she chose to shoot as target practice).

At least her aim was getting better.

* * *

After watching the sun climb high into the sky and the sounds of the bustle of the royal palace start to settle down after all the early morning duties had been completed, Aoife trudged back to her room after begging a few sausage and cheese turnovers to do as her breakfast (it was needless to say that the cook was rather shocked upon seeing the prim and proper Lady Eldorne in a shirt and breeches – but Aoife knew the cook had a soft spot for her).

She wolfed down the turnovers (they were still warm, gratefully) once the door was shut and she checked that the maid wasn't there. It was all very unladlylike, but Aoife had gone without food for nearly 3 or 4 hours now ever since she had arisen.

She changed into a lovely pale ivory shift and a soft, almost gauzy pink gown with a matching sash that she cinched at her waist. Plaiting her thick hair and neatly twisting it up, Aoife settled down at her writing desk to gaze at the letters and invitations she had received today.

She thought of Iaian immediately, because she had grown worried about why Iaian hadn't written her after the day of the riding party. It saddened her, because Aoife had thought that she had just begun to get closer to the mysterious mage, but perhaps Iaian didn't like a woman who could wield a weapon – Aoife knew that in some men, that was true.

Frowning slightly, Aoife scanned over a note from Buri, where the Riders' Commander expressed her glee at Aoife's skill with the bow and hoped that she would come and visit the Riders stables. Daine wrote on a dirt-smudged piece of parchment about hurroks, and apologized for failing to explain the habits of the hurroks thoroughly so that Aoife could be prepared.

Daine's so thoughtful, Aoife though as she hastily scribbled a note of thanks to Daine and left it on the side of her desk.

A thick scroll held the royal seal on it, and Aoife recognized Prince Liam's neat print.

_Dear Aoife,_

_It is my greatest honor to invite you to be my guest at the Autumn Ball next Saturday. Please send your reply back soon!_

_Sincerely,_

_Liam_

Aoife giggled softly, able to tell that Liam's attempt at sounding formal and accomplished had sadly failed, and he sounded as he always did – playful and rambunctious, with only a hint of his mocking tease.

It was truly a great honor, though, to be personally invited to be "a guest" – it was a connotation used as "be my date", for example. Even though Aoife knew that the other young noble ladies would look upon her with jealousy next Saturday evening as Aoife took the place of honor next to the prince, she didn't care. She was so excited!

* * *

Eleven o'clock finally rolled around, and after Aoife handed her letters and papers to the maid to deliver she smoothed out her dress, checked to make sure her hair was neat, and then stepped out of the door, hoping to find a kind soul that could give her directions to the queen's chambers (yes, even after more than a month of living in the palace, Aoife still didn't know which way led to the main road to Corus and which way led to the stables).

Eventually, a stammering page pointed her in the direction of the queen's chambers and Aoife set off, hoping that she wasn't too late.

Upon turning into a hallway, Aoife heard Thayet's voice, and not wanting to disturb, she decided to wait for a while against the wall.

"…And Alanna and Jon are still up in Scanra," Thayet was saying to whomever she was talking to. "Jon sends word that they might be home by Midwinter for a bit before Third Company leaves – you sent out First Company to the border today?"

A deep voice answered, and Aoife recognized Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie's Peak, the Knight Commander of the King's Own. She had met him on her very first day in the palace – Lerant worked as standard-bearer for him.

"First company," Raoul corrected her.

"Yes, of course," Thayet replied, rather distractedly. "There's no word from Myles or Daine about what their spies have gathered?"

_So much talk of war,_ Aoife thought dismally.

"None," Raoul said in his easygoing manner.

A third voice piped in, one that Aoife hadn't been expecting to hear. "We could always go, send a few more groups out…"

"Absolutely not," Thayet snapped. "There are already plenty of Rider groups with the King's Own and the soldiers guarding the Scanran border. I know that your ponies are good for traversing the rocks around the border, but we need you to help defend home."

"I know, Buri," Raoul cut in. "Let the men do all the hard work."

Aoife could imagine Buri glaring at Raoul as she said, "I'll have you know that there are plenty of men in the Riders, too!"

Aoife edged into the doorway, hesitant to openly walk in.

Thayet turned and saw her, and smiled. "Come on in, Aoife."

Buri smiled before continuing to bicker with Raoul and Raoul nodded politely before jabbing a remark in return to Buri.

"You sound like an old married couple," Thayet murmured, a smile tugging at her red lips. "Although, Jon and I don't bicker _that_ much. Now out, both of you. I have to talk to Aoife."

They both exited the room, still going at it, and Buri gave a quick wave goodbye to either Aoife or Thayet – Aoife couldn't really tell. Aoife thought it was quite comical, though, of how Buri held her own even though she was so much shorter than the giant that was Raoul; although compared to Raoul, most all things would be dwarfed.

Thayet sat back down, and Aoife took the chair Buri had occupied across from Thayet.

Thayet appeared to roll her words around on her tongue for a moment or two before she finally spoke.

"Aoife, I admire your talents with the bow and rumor is that you're a very good rider, too. I know that your family would probably oppose you joining the Riders with Buri, but in that case, what do you think about joining the Queen's Ladies?"

Aoife was shocked, to put it lightly. She had never imagined in her whole life, that she would be sitting with the queen and be asked to join the Queen's Ladies!

She knew her family wouldn't object – most noble ladies asked to join the Queen's Ladies usually left and married well-off noblemen with high-ranking fiefs. Also, Aoife would be doing what she loved – archery, horseback riding, and occasionally, perhaps even some swordsmanship.

Suddenly remembering where she was, Aoife hurried to stand and curtsy to Thayet, murmuring "It is truly a great honor to be asked to join such a prestigious group. However, permit me to write to my family and I will try to send my reply to you as soon as possible."

Thayet nodded, her eyes searching. "Very well, Aoife."

Aoife curtseyed again, and silently exited the room, wandering down the hall.

It was true that if Aoife accepted the invitation to join the Queen's Ladies, her family would finally view her as independent and capable. But the lingering thought of "married well-off noblemen" still pushed at her mind.

What would become of Iaian should she join the Queen's Ladies? She wanted to keep seeing the moody mage, despite what outer appearances he seemed to give off at first. She wanted to stoke the fire of whatever small, indefinite relationship they were sharing right now.

Lost in thought, Aoife bumped into another body, but warm arms caught her before she fell.

"I'm so sorry!" Aoife cried, promptly turning and giving a deep curtsey. Looking up, she looked into familiar turquoise eyes that sent a spark kindling inside of her.

"Iaian…"

-_to be continued_-

* * *

**A/N:** Ack. I did not like this so much – but now the story is passed off to **fairydust000** – good luck! And don't forget the Autumn Ball – Aoife's going with Liam!

And to all of our readers - reviews are always appreciated! (hint hint)


	9. Fairy Dust

_A/N: OK, this is irritating, I wrote this authors note, but for some reason it didn't turn up when I loaded this chapter. Oh well, I'm changing it now, not that it will make much difference, I'm sure that most of you have already read this chapter. Anyhow, I hope that you like it and that it does justice to the rest of the story. My kind sister thinks that I have gone and messed up the whole plot, but I hope not. _

_As usual, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. Reviews are great, and our whole group loves getting them. (hint hint) So I shan't keep you any longer with my boring author's note, read and enjoy. (I hope)_

Iaian was in the middle of a deep, apologetic bow when he realised whom he had collided with. His bright turquoise eyes widened in surprise, before glancing down the hall behind her.

"Aoife. Gone to see the Queen, I see?" he inquired, straightening himself up from his half bow.

"Hmmmm, yes," she replied, frowning slightly. She didn't know whether she should tell Iaian about Thayet's proposal. It wasn't exactly a secret, but perhaps she should wait until her parents had given their consent. Then again, what did it matter, Iaian was a good friend and was hardly likely to spread the news throughout Corus.

"Queen Thayet has cordially invited me to join her Queen's ladies." Aoife kept her eyes on his face, trying to gauge his reaction to her good news.

His eyebrows furrowed in thought for a few seconds, but slowly his face broke out into a broad smile that made Aoife's heart flutter oddly. Iaian's smile was the finest thing to behold; it entirely changed his dark and rather gloomy countenance, making him seem more striking than ever.

"That's brilliant!" He exclaimed finally. "Nobody will dare to criticize one of the Queen's Ladies, at least not openly, and you'll be able to ride and shoot without any fear of what the conservatives will think."

"I still haven't asked my parents yet." Aoife interjected warningly, though she was rather amused by this strange display of happiness in her friend's generally stern character.

"No parent would be foolish enough to refuse such an honour, especially since…" Iaian trailed off, his features hardening and a look of contempt settling over his face.

"Since what?" Aoife prompted, curious of the sudden change in Iaian's view that had obviously occurred.

Iaian raised his head, eyeing her suspiciously. "Since most young women who join that Queen's Ladies come out of it and manage to bag a respectable gentleman with a large fortune and fief. They also," Iaian continued before Aoife could protest, "do not associate with anyone from the lower classes or fiefs, which would most likely include my good self."

"Don't be stupid!!" Aoife exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him, in what she hoped was the direction of her room. "I've put up with you so far, haven't I? Why on earth would that change now? You're one of my best friends in the whole of Tortall, I won't forget you simply because I'm in the Queen's Ladies."

Iaian's silence gave her enough courage to be able to glance up quickly at his face. His bright green eyes seemed to have darkened somewhat, his eyebrows were furrowed and his lips tightened in thoughtful contemplation. Aoife glance back down quickly, surprised at his reaction. He didn't seem angry, but he definitely wasn't as happy as she had expected. He almost seemed hurt. She frowned slightly, concerned as to why he should be hurt by her telling him that he was one of her best friends.

The silence continued as they walked, growing more and more uncomfortable. Aoife was usually able to walk with Iaian in mutually contented silence, but soon this silence became too much for even the stubborn Aoife to handle.

"So…" she started as they finally turned into a corridor that seemed vaguely familiar. "Will you be attending the autumn ball this Saturday?" It was a weak attempt at conversation she knew, but at least it brought Iaian out of his revere.

"I had thought about it." Iaian replied, staring at her pointedly with his piercing turquoise eyes.

Why was he staring at her like that, surely he didn't expect her to help find him a court lady to go with. She giggled inwardly at the image of him escorting Silly, Millie or Dumb to the ball. The picture of his stern, robust build, next to their tittering, swooning frames was almost too ridiculous to imagine.

"Hmmm," she replied, trying not to smile. "Well, I happen to be going. Liam sent an invitation over this morning, requesting that I be his guest." She swiftly kicked herself mentally as Iaian stopped sharply, a few meters from her door. Why had she mentioned that? Iaian was always touchy whenever she mentioned Liam. It was stupid and she couldn't imagine why he was so sensitive about it, but wondering why wasn't going to help the situation now.

"Liam??!!" Iaian exclaimed, pulling Aoife to an abrupt stop.

"Yes, he sent over an invitation this morning, and I couldn't exactly refuse."

A pained look flitted across Iaian's face, but it was so swiftly brushed away that Aoife wasn't entirely sure that it had ever been there. It was rapidly replaced as he hardened all of his features and levelled such a withering gaze at Aoife that she stepped back in surprise.

"It's just a dance Iaian!" She defended. "It's hardly as if I've done anything wrong."

"Apart from wooing and flirting with every man who so much as glanced in your direction!" Aoife was slightly shocked at such an unfounded accusation, and her sea-green eyes widened in astonishment. Her bewilderment was swiftly suppressed, however, as her indignation rose. Tilting her head back and raising her pert nose, she addressed him in the snootiest Lady-like voice that she could manage.

"I am a debutant, Master Hunter. That is what I am here for; to dance and flirt and woo every man of good standing who so much as sets foot in this castle. So that I can find a good husband and redeem Eldorne. I can't say that I like it, but that's the way that it is. What else can I do? My family is depending on me."

"Ahhh, yes, you're family!" Iaian spat, all courtesy and reserve seemingly forgotten. "That traitorous family to which you belong." Aoife gasped as the insult hit her, but Iaian was so incensed that he didn't seem to notice.

"How could I, how could anyone have expected anything better from a family such as Eldorne. Treachery flows in your veins. You're just like your wicked aunt. Enticing, luring, and seducing every eligible young man that you can find. With no pure intentions whatsoever. Ahhh, yes, Little Eldorne. How could I have thought that you would not want to follow in your traitorous Auntie Delia's footsteps?" There he paused for a breath, a storm of emotions suddenly flooding his face. They both stared at each other for a few moments, a plainly hurt look on Aoife's face, and a look of desperate confusion on Iaian's.

"I take my leave of you Lady Aoife of Eldorne." He uttered finally, chocking on the last few syllables. He turned immediately on his heels and hurried down the hall.

Aoife remained standing in the same spot for some time, staring at the place where she had last seen Iaian's retreating back. The spitefulness of his words and the pain in his eyes played on her mind as she tried to work what, exactly, had just happened.

Sighing she withdraw to her room. She would never be able to figure Iaian out, nor did she particularly want to after all of his insults. She could only hope that he hadn't meant what he'd said and that he'd quickly come and apologise. Though she didn't really have much hope of that, she mused grimly, he was more stubborn than she was. So with that gloomy notion she sat down to write to her parents.

* * *

Over the next few days Aoife did not see Iaian even once, nor did she really have the chance to. She had been hoping that he would come and apologise, or at the very least explain why he had been so angry, but to Aoife's bitter disappointment, it had never happened. Not that she had much time to reflect on it. Duke Baird had finally started giving her healing lessons. She had read most of the book that he'd given her, so she was at least a little prepared for what was to come. It was a lot harder than she had expected, mostly because her gift wasn't particularly strong. But her stubbornness and strong will made it easier than it would have been for most other people in her situation. (Which was why she was able to heal Iaian without as much as one lesson.) Duke Baird seemed pleased with her and kept on talking about her becoming a proper healer. Though Aoife wasn't so sure that her family would approve, in fact she was so sure that they wouldn't, that she had not even bothered to tell them of it in her letter. What they didn't know couldn't possibly hurt them.

* * *

Lady Vianne of Dolphins Reef also helped to keep Aoife busy. She was far better company than Silly, Millie or Dumb. (whose company Aoife endeavoured to escape at any opportunity) Vianne was a very typical Lady in almost every way. She was exceedingly beautiful, brilliant at sewing and embroidering, sang wonderfully and knew how to use a fan to her advantage as well as knowing how to walk across a ball room so that it appeared as if she were floating. However she most definitely wasn't one of the air-headed court ladies that generally infested the palace. She was shy, but exceedingly nice and fun to be with when she felt comfortable with the people she was with.

* * *

The Friday before the ball Aoife was again woken by a knocking on her door. Groaning as she rolled out of bed she wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and staggered to the door.

"Why do people persist at banging on my door when I am trying to sleep" Aoife muttered as she peered through the part way open door.

"Morning Aoife." Vianne smiled brightly. "Come on and get changed, we're going on a little shopping trip."

Aoife sighed as she resigned herself to the fact that she would not be able to get back to bed that morning. She held the door open for Vianne and then made her way over to her wardrobe.

"You might want to choose something nice, Aoife. There are a few people coming with us"

Aoife glanced at Vianne questioningly.

"Just Willem of Anak's Eyrie, Vishay of Arpad and my sister Lady Daphne" Vianne replied nonchalantly. "So just hurry up and get dressed."

Aoife hurriedly picked out an ivory shift and navy dress and threw them on behind her screen. She quickly ran a brush through her hair and pinned up a few strands leaving, most of it curling around her shoulders. Grabbing her shoes, she slipped them on as she was dragged out the door by Lady Vianne.

"Prince Liam couldn't come today," Vianne explained to Aoife as they hurried towards the gate where the others where waiting. "He had to attend a meeting of some kind with King Jonathan."

Aoife grimaced. "How boring, the poor boy."

Vianne glanced at Aoife in surprise. "It is his duty you know, he may not be the crown Prince, but he is still part of the royal family. Besides, it wouldn't be too boring, meeting new people and trying to manipulate them so that they will agree with you, without even realising it." Vianne's lips twisted up into a smirk that surprised Aoife. "It would sort of be fun."

Aoife shook her head as they reached the gate; it seemed that there was more to Lady Vianne of Dolphin's Reef than met the eye. Her thoughts were soon interrupted by the sight of Vishay and the others. His sparkling brown eyes danced as he bowed deeply to the ladies and kissed Aoife's hand. Willem also bowed to both ladies, a smirk on his face as he saw the attention that Vishay paid to Aoife. Greetings thus completed, Aoife was introduced to Lady Vianne's sister, Lady Daphne. Lady Daphne looked very similar to Vianne, long black hair, brown eyes and fair skin. However she was a little shorter than Vianne and her eyes did not seem to sparkle in the same way as her younger sister's. Aoife soon found out that Daphne had been at court a year longer than Vianne, and although there had been some promise, had never been able to secure a good marriage.

The quintet was soon on their way and made their way to the dressmakers, where Vianne was to pick up her dress for the ball. Aoife was a little concerned by this revelation.

"I was intending on wearing one of my other dresses to the ball." She ventured, after some contemplation.

"Oh, that will be fine." Vianne assured gaily. "You have so many pretty dresses, they aren't exactly in the height of fashion, but that's alright, it makes for a nice change."

Daphne didn't seem so convinced and sniffed snootily at the though of Aoife wearing an old dress to a ball with the Prince. "Of course, I suppose that an Eldorne would not have enough money to afford a new outfit for every ball. The crown stripped you of all you money if I recall correctly. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if those dresses of yours once belonged to your Aunt Delia."

Aoife's coloured face was confirmation enough for this and Lady Daphne sniffed and turned away to talk with Vishay. Vianne came up beside Aoife and grasped her hand comfortingly. "Don't worry Aoife, she's a snob. She's my sister, but that doesn't stop me from seeing all of her faults, and believe me, she is not the most accepting person in the world."

Aoife smiled warmly at Vianne. It was nice to have good friends. She knew that she was lucky to have so many people on her side: Vianne, Kel, Daine, Thayet, Laim, Buri, Numair, Vishay, Iaian… She winced inwardly at this thought. She was beginning to miss him, annoying as he may be at times. Oh well, he would be at the ball tomorrow. She would see him then.

* * *

At the seventh bell after midday the next evening Prince Liam met Aoife in front of her room, and together with Vianne and Vishay they made their way down towards the ballroom. Aoife had spent the afternoon preparing for the ball. She had swept her thick black hair up onto her head, leaving a few strands hanging down on her shoulders, and pinned up the rest with her best silver pins, before arranging a few pearl pins into the bun for decoration. Knowing that she looked better without too much make-up on, she had only allowed the maid to rub a little kohl around her eyes, apply a touch of cheek rouge and coat her lips with a natural shade of red. The choice of dress was slightly more stressful, though eventually she decided on a dark green gown that she knew complimented her eyes perfectly. It had smatterings of delicate white embroidery across the skirt and black cuffs. Glancing in the mirror she had tidied up the few loose strands of hair and smoothed her gown until she was satisfied. She looked beautiful, she knew, though she definitely did not compare to Vianne. Her purple dress, with glittering golden embroidery trailing across the skirt of the gown suited her perfectly. She had gold drop earrings and a simple gold necklace. Aoife did not doubt that it was real gold, and her silver paled in comparison. But there was nothing that she could do about that, so drawing her shoulders up; she entered the ballroom, her arm linked with the Prince's.

As she had expected the entire congregation looked up as soon as the couple entered. Liam led her slowly through the crowd that milled below and across the room to a quieter section. By all accounts they were a lovely couple and despite a few mumbles that reached her ears, about courting a blood traitor, Aoife was rather happy. The formal dinner began as soon as everybody had entered, and Aoife had the honour of sitting next to one of the Princes and the Queen, (as they were the only nobles currently in residence at the palace) along with several other high ranking nobles. The food was spectacular and Aoife relished the chance that she had been given to redeem her family's image, even if only a little. She could see Sir Donovan of Captains Ridge glaring at her from one of the other tables, and even took the chance to cheekily and silently raise her glass to him. He seemed taken aback at her defiance and retreated to scowling at his dessert.

At the end of the last course Prince Liam stood up and held his hand out to Aoife.

"Care to dance?" he smiled teasingly.

Aoife smirked at him and taking his hand rose and made her way out onto the dance floor. The music started up immediately and as it floated through the ball room, Aoife and Liam began to dance. Soon other couples took to the floor and Aoife began to feel less conspicuous. Sighing with relief she smiled up at Liam.

"I don't know how you do it Liam. All those people watching you, all the time."

"You learn to bear with it," Liam smiled playfully. "It can get a little tedious sometimes, but other times it can be quite fun."

Aoife frowned slightly at this. "I guess being brought up in such an isolated fief as Eldorne has made me nervous of being the centre of attention. Besides, generally when I am at the centre of attention it is because people are scorning my family."

"Well, no need to worry about that, so long as you have good friends about." Liam countered positively. "We won't let you be scorned because of something that your aunt did years and years ago. I know quite a few people who wouldn't let that happen, in particular a tall, dark mage..."

Aoife glanced up at Liam and saw the teasing sparkle in his eyes. Sighing inwardly she began to explain her problem to the Prince.

"And I haven't seen him since then, I don't even think that he's here tonight."

"Haven't you heard?" Liam puzzled. "He's gone away to the Scanran border to try and help organise some kind of mage defence there. Daine and Numair were going to go by themselves, but Iaian insisted that he needed the experience. They left two days ago. It's strange that he didn't tell you."

Aoife was a little shocked at this news, and furrowed her brow thoughtfully. "It is a little strange. When does he come back?"

"Should be a couple of weeks yet, though I'm sure that it'll give him time to cool down so that when he comes back he'll have forgotten completely about your little tiff"

Aoife wasn't so sure, but with that the dance ended and the couples began to disperse from the dance floor, leaving Aoife deep in thought.

_A/N: There we go, I hope that was ok. It was decidedly shorter than I had expected. It looked so long on paper that I made myself finish up before I wanted to, now it seems a little too short, but oh well, what's done is done. Now if you could please press that little blue button down there…_


	10. Darking Girl

Well, here it is…. The TENTH chapter! Ok, it was meant to be by HUNCHBOOK but sadly she was unable to, so gladly, I have stepped into tenth place! Woo for me! All I can hope is that you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it. I mean it was AMAZING to do!

I would like to think that this chapter is a little more well, dark then the others but mah….. decide for yourselves!

And without any further delay I give you to the story…..

* * *

He sat at his desk in Scanra, staring at a small clay bowl filled with icy cold water. Reflections played on the crystal clear surface showing the plain bottom of the bowl, as the light slowly moved across it a new image appeared, this time of a young woman, sleeping, yet tossing and turning in her bed. With a sigh the mage passed his hand over the bowl and it was clear again. 

He sat still for a few moments and then slowly held out his right hand. Opening it he gazed upon a small chased gold engraved ring set with rubies and emeralds; the inside enamelled in opaque turquoise, pale green, white and black.

He slowly brought it to his lips and kissed it before placing it in an envelope with the name Aoife printed on it.

"Forgive me…." he mumbled before placing the letter in the centre of a stack bound for the capital of Tortall on the back of a brown feathered messenger. He wrapped the letters in leather then tied them upon the back of the starling just before it flew out the window.

Iaian stood and walked to the window of the small office he had been given, high in the main tower, for his use during his stay in the old war zone. He looked blankly out the window, "I can't do it," he said under his breath, "my feelings are…."

Suddenly he caught a flash of red hair and emerald green eyes, "…_Ray?_…"

He ran from the room.

* * *

Aoife had been unable to sleep peacefully for the past few days. Fears of the mysterious writer of that letter and her parents reply of the Queen's offer had kept her from sleeping for the three nights that had passed since the Autumn ball. 

Those days had passed peacefully, which made her internal struggle all the worse as there was nothing to distract her and Iaian had, literally, ran for the hills. To make matters worse her days had been totally void of post- no visits to picnics, horse back rides or just shopping trips. Soon, she felt, she was going to die from boredom.

Aoife gave up any pretence of trying to sleep and sat up in her bed. Her cotton white nightgown covered her from neck to foot and she drew her knees to her chin.

A tear slid from her sea-green eye, down her pert nose and dropped onto the wrinkled cottoned knee.

Quickly she dashed the tear, "I will not cry" she said steadfastly, "I do not cry. And, nothing has happened!"

She withdrew her long knees from under her chin and got out of bed resignedly, grabbing her robe from the end of the bed and wrapping it tightly around her slender form, she headed for the wardrobe.

As she was beginning the endless struggle of 'what to wear today' the door knocked but twice - the maids knock. Aoife strode forward quickly and opened it, the maid curtsied and held out a silver tray with, naturally, many a letter - four! With a polite thank you Aoife dismissed the maid, closed the door and went to her desk.

The top letter she recognised as one from her home fief. Her heart came to her throat. But she couldn't open it, she just couldn't so she placed it on the desk.

Opening the next letter in the pile she smiled, it was from Buri inviting her for a ride later that day, with, perhaps a little archery, and she was told informal dress. "Does that mean breaches or skirt?" Aoife asked herself. The next letter was along the same lines but came from Vishay's hand. It simply invited her to accompany him on a ride into the forest the next day. Drawing parchment that lay close to hand she quickly wrote two replies to these requests, accepting gladly.

The other letter made her freeze in a panic as it was exactly like that one that had referred to her as 'Little Eldorne'. It had that black seal, and her name was in red ink. Knowing that it was better to get it over and done with Aoife picked it up and was shocked at its weight. Opening it, no letter fell into her palm but a magnificent ring. She gazed at in wonder, and her fingers traced the heart shaped rubies and leafy emeralds.

Eyes wide she realised that she held a fortune in her snowy palm. Firstly it was gold, with rubies and emeralds, and then there was the enamelled inlay - the blacks, the blues, the greens, and the whites. It was a work of art and naturally, she was surprised. Who would give her something so expensive? And something so old fashioned? It was not a normal token of affection one gave to a sweetheart so it must be someone who knew her well. Someone who knew her love of archery as it was an archers ring. She knew from reading that it fit over the end of her thumb, coming to rest on the outer edge of her outer joint. The flat area would then extended from the ring to protect her thumb from the bowstring.

The ring still lay on her palm. She examined it one last time with a forefinger and placed it on her thumb.

It fitted perfectly and she looked at herself in the mirror. Smiling she realised that with this ring it would never matter what she wore.

As she turned from the mirror she realised that the letter from her parents still remained and she sobered up, extremely quickly.

"Please say yes. Please say yes," she whispered as she brought the letter to her chest, "Oh Goddess, please let it say yes".

Aoife reached out and drew her small silver filigree letter opener that lay still on her desk from her previous letters. With a well practised stroke the envelope was opened and bequeathed on her the long awaited letter.

With a shacking hand she opened it and read the opening words of 'Aoife Mairi', with a sigh she shook her head, it was always the two together, when would they ever forget the Mairi?

With an equal mix of hope and dread Aoife read the letter that would decide her future.

* * *

Meanwhile as Aoife was reading her letters Vishay was pacing deep in the heart of the Royal forest, holding a silver mirror heavily inscribed with runes. 

This mirror was special, it had been given to him by his half brother, a powerful mage, so they could talk over long distances. Distances indeed as the person on the other end of the mirror was in a high office in Scanran. The two were arguing fiercely.

"What do you mean? You're not getting cold feet are you?!" argued the pacing Vishay.

"I don't know what I'm getting… it just…. it's just…. well…. Wrong!"

"_You_ are not allowed to get cold feet, I _own _you! You do as _I _say as petition for your mother's sins. She gave you to my father… _our_ father!" spat out Vishay with venom as a reply, "our whole purpose of this little…. endeavour is to destroy her… along with….. well, you know who! We are so near to our end! She's already sweet on me, and well, you…..?"

Iaian's eyes stared back through a twin mirror. They were hard like the turquoise stone they were named for.

Vishay looked back, "You….. You love her?! Fool!! She will die! What are you doing? At least tell me you did what we planned to the ring!"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I did it. I wouldn't be able to do any of this if I loved her" lied player Iaian.

Vishay stared into those pit less eyes, long and hard. He obviously saw what he wanted, "I believe you. You have no heart, no emotions. Not after what that, _whore _of a mother did to you! And well, you're upbringing…. You are like stone now. Fare thee well… _brother_!!" With an evil laugh Vishay ended the connection.

"Not as hard as you it would seem …. brother" stated Iaian simply.

* * *

Buri was waiting at the stables, with Kel and the Queen. The horses were saddled and were only in need of their riders. Each of the horses carried saddlebags which were heavily packed. 

Aoife soon arrived and was glad to notice that all were wearing breaches. Now she was even more glad that she had chosen to wear her brother's cast of brown breeches and a white shirt with her families green tunic. Teemed with her dark brown leather boots she knew she looked well. Normally she would never have dared ware these types of clothes among company, but this was Buri, and anything involved with her seemed like a test. Beside Aoife had her new beautiful ring. Who would care what she wore when they saw that? She was even more pleased over her outfit choice when she saw all the horses wore normal saddles, not side saddles. She smiled at the fact that these women assumed she could ride on a standard saddle.

Buri beckoned Aoife impatiently, "Come on! We need to leave, we've got a lot to do today…." she broke of rather abruptly and was staring at Aoife's right thumb. "Whoa," she stated simply.

Kel and Thayet had both drawn close and were also staring, literally magpies drawn to something shiny.

"Pretty…" mumbled Kel.

"Pretty-pretty…." replied Thayet.

Aoife stared at them in shock, amused that these three, well, warriors, turned all googly eyed at a pretty ring. She blinked three times, then burst out laughing.

"Oh Goddess, hehehee, give me, hahaha, strength!"

"Where did you get it from?" asked the wide eyed Queen, who naturally was familiar around jewels and gold but held this small ring in great awe.

"No one ever gave something like this to _me_!" said Kel thoughtfully, with a look in her eye.

Buri caught the look, "I'll be sure to mention it to Dom for you then…." she said mischievously.

Kel elbowed Buri, and gave her a writhing look, but one that held a little hope!

Aoife continued to laugh more deeply, and soon reached the stage where she was unable to breathe. Once she had caught it she told her friends of the proceedings of that morn and what the ring was used for.

Buri became impatient quite quickly, "Come on! Lets see how it works!"

"It's a guard" stated Kel, "It simply protects, like, well, an arm guard."

"Shut up," Buri shot back.

The two women rode off in front of the Queen and Aoife bickering all the way until they turned a corner.

With a small smile Thayet looked at Aoife, "I'm not trying to alarm you but, have you had this beauty checked by a mage?"

"W-w-what?!"

"I'm sure there would be nothing to fear but to be on the safe side…"

Aoife nodded her head and they mounted their horses.

"Oh, my dear, I almost forgot to ask you…. Have you heard from your parents yet?"

* * *

Well, by now you should know the drill…. It would be wonderful to know what you thought…. Did you expect the twist? 

Evil giggle…..

Coming next time… the wonderful, magnificent, ladylike LADY MUCK!!!!!!!!!

P.S. I shall post a picture of Aoife's ring on the group's profile so go look!


	11. Lady Muck Rides Again!

**A/N** – well, here I am again… the first author to appear a second time around. Hope I can deliver the goods!

**Chapter 11 - By Lady Muck**

The elegant poise of the quill-pen over the spotless, rose-scented parchment she kept especially for answering invitations might have given the impression that Aoife of Eldorne had nothing on her mind but the task at hand. Closer observation, however, would have assured the voyeur that nothing could have been further from the truth. The pen was, in fact, completely motionless. Her effervescent sea-green eyes were almost hidden beneath downcast lashes, and her rosebud mouth smiled dreamily as she ran her free hand over the pretty guard-ring adorning her thumb. And whilst she twisted and caressed its shining curves, her thoughts were irresistibly drawn to Iaian… Iaian far away on the still-dangerous Scanran border… Iaian whose face had clouded with anger the last time he'd turned from her… Iaian who had left without saying goodbye…

As Aoife's fingers trailed over sparkling jewels and smooth enamel, one particular memory suddenly filled her mind…

"_Liam??!!" Iaian exclaimed, pulling Aoife to an abrupt stop._

"_Yes, he sent over an invitation this morning, and I couldn't exactly refuse."_

_A pained look flitted across Iaian's face, but it was so swiftly brushed away_ that Aoife _wasn't entirely sure that it had ever been there. It was rapidly replaced as he hardened all of his features and levelled such a withering gaze at Aoife that she stepped back in surprise._

"_It's just a dance__ Iaian__! It's hardly as if I've done anything wrong."_

"_Apart from wooing and flirting with every man who so much as glanced in your direction!" _

Aoife's head snapped up, and her bright eyes opened and became suddenly business-like as she dipped her pen in the inkwell and addressed the completed note sitting on the desk in front of her as if her lapse in concentration had never occurred. But although her eyes were now keen and clear, and her nimble fingers were deliberately and precisely folding the parchment, the last vestiges of that painful memory still warmed her mind.

_Iaian hated it all, _she mused. _The flirtation, the picnics, the riding parties… even the dances. _Then reluctantly, almost guiltily, she remembered the angry flush that had first tinted his cheeks at that long-ago ball. _And he particularly hated Vishay._

That thought, however, was quickly banished. After all, what did Iaian and his opinions matter to her now? She, Aoife Mairi of Eldorne, with Eldorne's cursed pride running hotly in her veins, would be damned if she would submit to the will of a man who did not even have the decency to bid her a proper farewell. Not to mention a man who was still suffocating her with his jealousy and possessiveness despite the fact that he was several hundred miles away and they were no longer on speaking terms. Tossing her glossy, dark locks impatiently over her shoulder, she sealed the letter and placed it with the others that were to be delivered. No matter what Iaian might have to say about it, she was going to go riding in the royal forest with whoever she bloody well liked!

x o x o x o x o x o

In an impatient whirl of dark hair and darker mage's robe, Master Iaian Hunter descended the worn, stone steps of the tower that housed his temporary office. Without so much as breaking his stride, he thrust open the door at the bottom of the stairwell and launched himself out into the grey, blustery morning. Weaving carefully around the many pairs sparring in the castle's courtyard, Iaian set his course for a distant corner around which the red-headed man had just disappeared, and upon rounding said corner, he found himself face to face with the man, who, it seemed, had just turned and begun walking back from whence he came. Iaian held out his hand, and, an incredulous shock of recognition settling upon his visage, the man gripped his forearm in return.

'Ray', said Iaian slowly, his tone still slightly disbelieving. His old friend's face was familiar, _achingly_ so, and for one wildly worried moment, Iaian wondered why the sight of Reagan was stirring such deep feelings in him, but then he realised: it was not really Ray's face he was seeing at all, but Aoife's. The same delicate nose, unusual but not awkward in his sturdy face, the same sea-green eyes twinkling with something indefinable, the same decided sweep of hair away from a high, proud forehead… Quite suddenly, a wave of guilt, remorse and cold, naked fear swept through Iaian's veins; he dropped Ray's hand as though it was burning, and swung his gaze to the muddy ground. He could not bring himself even to look at this man. Not now. Yet look he must, and the pain he felt, gazing on _her_ face, was, though petty with regard to compensating for his own sins, no less than the troubled young mage knew that he deserved.

As Iaian wearily lifted his head, Reagan, who didn't appear to have noticed his companion's inner turmoil in the slightest, gave a broad grin, and beckoned towards a nearby bench, where they both sat down.

'What a place to meet you, master mage,' he chuckled, 'I can't imagine what's driven you so far from all your home comforts!' Iaian made his own, rather feebler, attempt at cachinnation.

'Oh, you know, research project. Inestimably dull, of course, that's why they sent me so far away. Stops me from boring anyone _else_ to death with it! But what about you?' He added quickly, desiring nothing more than to steer the conversation away from his own activities, 'surely you haven't turned up at a remote border post for nothing but a holiday?' Ray laughed again.

'Matter of fact, that's exactly what I have done. I figured that now this bloody war's over, I'd earned a bit of a rest.'

'You fought?'

'Nah, not really. But I reckon I healed the whole gods-cursed army several times over. Takes the old Gift a while to recover from that sort of strain!' Iaian was listening with interest, and not only because of the subject matter. Now that he knew Ray's true identity, he thought he could hear the faintest traces of a soft, noble accent behind the common prattle his friend had appropriated.

'So, after you've finished your little break here, I guess you'll be heading down to Corus to cover yourself in glory, then? You know, war hero, and all that.' Reagan raised one mocking eyebrow.

'I don't know about 'hero', my boy, but the lads do reckon I'm a shoe-in for the Healers' Cross, so I've been thinking that I might eventually wander on down to our glorious capital and see for myself.' He beamed at Iaian again, but Iaian no longer seemed to be paying attention.

'She's a healer, too,' he said, softly and completely involuntarily.

'Who?' asked Reagan curiously.

'Oh,' Iaian cursed his slip of the tongue, 'Um, a girl I knew – I mean, a girl I know in Corus.'

'Pray, do tell', simpered Ray, in a rather unflattering, though admittedly most accurate impression of a gossipy court lady. Iaian was disgusted with himself. A stupid, foolish mistake on his own part had led this conversation by the scruff of the neck to the very subject he had prayed it would never stray to: the subject of Aoife.

'Oh, just a girl,' he replied, trying to keep his tone as light as possible, 'there are rather a lot of them at court, you know.' Ray smiled appreciatively.

'Anyway,' Iaian continued, attempting to smile in return, 'I'm not so sure that I know her anymore. We quarreled, and then I came up here without even telling her I was leaving,' he sighed ruefully but managed to call up a small smile, 'I don't think that particular relationship has a very bright future ahead of it.'

'But you wish it did,' observed Reagan shrewdly. In the time since they had last met, Iaian had almost forgotten that Ray's coarse, common dialect and jovial façade hid a keen intellect, and, for the moment, he rather wished that his companion was as bumbling and ignorant as he sometimes pretended to be. Consorting only with stupid people made life so much easier.

But, realising that Reagan would settle for nothing less than the truth, or at least something that sounded enough like the truth to be convincing, Iaian closed his eyes, and, groaning wearily, leaned back against the wall behind the bench and began to speak.

'She's just a girl… just another court lady out to find herself a rich, noble husband,' he laughed bitterly, 'but yet, she's so much more…'

As he talked, Iaian felt as though a poisonous sting was being extracted from his flesh, and its toxin melting away into nothingness. It was a profound relief, finally releasing the feelings he had been bottling up for weeks inside his increasingly frantic mind and prickly-cased heart. When finally he paused for breath, Ray let out a long, low whistle.

'She sounds like a right piece of work,' he said reverently, 'what's her name?' There it was; the one question he had been dreading, and the only question he had promised himself that he would never honestly answer. Yet now that it had been asked… He felt suddenly sick of it all; the lies, the secrecy, the shadowy half-truths that his life seemed to be full of. This man, who had proved himself today - as he had many times before - to be a true friend, deserved more than that. He turned and met Reagan's eyes squarely, and their cheerful yet sympathetic expression squeezed his heart in a spasm of painful memory. Inhaling deeply, his voice shook slightly as he said:

'Her name is Aoife, and she is your sister.'

x o x o x

Early afternoon sunlight sifted gently down between the leaves of the royal forest, which, with the advent of autumn, were now golden tinged and somewhat sparse. Below this gilded ceiling walked two horses: a proud, gleaming, chestnut gelding with a young man sitting almost lazily upon its back, and a plump, grey mare straddled by a dark-haired girl who sat erectly and somewhat impatiently in the saddle, almost as if frustrated by the dullness of her borrowed steed. The girl tossed her head and clicked her heels restlessly against the mare's flanks, desiring nothing more than the feel of the rushing wind against her face, but instead of stirring the docile looking creature to a gallop, she only caused it to whinny loudly, and shake itself so fiercely that its rider, who, in her defence, was not exactly paying attention to the finer points of horsemanship at the time, was dislodged, and crash-landed rather spectacularly into a conveniently placed drift of fallen leaves. In a flash, the young man had also dismounted, and, in perfectly gentlemanly manner had offered a hand to help her up. To Aoife's relief, he seemed disinclined to show amusement at her predicament, but despite the dent it would have made in her pride, she could not help but think wistfully of Iaian's peals of raucous laughter had a similar incident happened on one of their rides together. _But Vishay_, said an unpleasantly snide voice from the corner of her mind that couldn't help but think like a debutante, _really is a gentleman, _and_ a noble. He knows that you're not supposed to laugh when ladies are bucked off their horses._

Glancing sideways at her companion, she found it impossible to deny that he was also a very handsome man. His dusty-blond horse-tail gave him a rakish, dashing look, which contrasted pleasingly with his soft brown eyes. But the eyes, beautiful though they were, could not completely satisfy their observer. Of course, they lacked Iaian's frighteningly intense sparkle (and why, oh why, must she compare everything Vishay did to him), but today, they seemed to lack even the friendship that she might have found in the eyes of Prince Liam. He seemed unusually distant, and although Aoife's 'inner court-lady' told her that, for the sake of being paid the proper courtesies, it was well worth it, she couldn't help but feel a little insulted by his stiffly formal attitude and almost blank expression. But court is a good place for teaching a person exactly when it is advisable to keep their mouth shut, and in this particular decorum, as in most other things, Aoife was a quick learner.

It was much later before he noticed the ring. They had stretched out their picnic lunch as long as they could, mainly because the act of eating made conversation not only unnecessary but blatantly impolite. All through that silent meal, Aoife had thought of Eldorne, and of another similarly unsociable dinner, so long ago now that it seemed like another lifetime. But as the sun sank steadily lower and evening approached, there seemed to be no shame in picking up and heading home; something both parties had honestly been wishing to do ever since they had met at the stables earlier in the day. As they busied themselves by packing the remains of their provisions back into a wicker basket, their fingers brushed against each other, and Vishay looked downwards to notice a glitter of gold and jewels on Aoife's thumb. Something that for want of a more flattering term might have been called a sneer flitted across his face, but he quickly wiped it off and replaced it with an expression of polite interest, as he picked up her small, white hand in his own and turned the ring carefully so as to have a better look.

'That's pretty,' he managed at last, 'where did you get it?'

'It was sent to me by, er, by a friend,' stammered Aoife. While she didn't see any particular reason _not_ to trust Vishay, she would rather not betray her fear and uncertainty of the anonymous correspondent to anyone

'A rich friend, by the looks of it,' he murmured, still twisting her hand this way and that so that the various jewels glowed in the last rays of sunlight.

'Actually,' she said, finally glad of an excuse for conversation, 'I've been meaning to get it checked out by a mage.' He raised his eyebrows.

'Not that I think my friend means me any harm,' she added hurriedly, 'but I've heard that such objects are often enchanted with various charms. I'd like to know exactly what it is I've got here.' Vishay's face now showed the first trace of a smile she'd seen on it all day.

'Maybe I can help you,' he said. 'I have the Sight, and I think it's strong enough to pick up any sorts of spells that might be on your little trinket.' When she nodded, he added, 'take it off first, though. It's harder to see it properly with your finger inside it.' Aoife obliged, and Vishay took the ring between his own fingers and held it up to the light, staring at it so hard that it really seemed as though he was trying to melt it with nothing but the force of his gaze. His eyebrows creased thoughtfully together, and suddenly, a real, broad smile lit his moody features. Then, just as quickly, the brows knit again and the smile faded into a look that was both confused and worried. Aoife drew in a sharp, anxious breath, but the next moment, Vishay seemed to have resolved whatever difficulty he had been presented with, and he was holding the ring out to her again.

'Nothing to worry about,' he pronounced, 'a couple of little enchantments for luck and happiness, but nothing more.'

He both looked and sounded so sincere that as she slipped the ring back on to her thumb, Aoife, who despite her unusual upbringing still retained all the innocence and naiveté of girlhood, never even suspected that he might be lying…

**A/N** – Is that a cliffhanger? Oh, I'm in a bit of a pickle now, because I know exactly what I want to happen next, but I'm not allowed to give advice… Mage of Dragons, it's your ball-game now! Oh, and I hope there weren't too many mistakes in here… I didn't get the chance to proof-read much!


	12. Mage of Dragons Returns!

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**_A/N: Okay, so I apologize profusely to everyone for the terribly long wait. The thing is... I broke my nose two weeks ago, and had to have surgery, so I've had a lot of problems at school trying to make up work. Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving to all you Americans out there, and to Lady Muck and everyone who I told that I would post this Wednesday or Thursday, I'm sorry for the wait. You guys are just so many hours ahead of me; it will probably be Friday when you read this. Anyway, hope you enjoy, and keep looking for the next chappie, by Confusedknight!! _**

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Chapter 12- By Mage of Dragons 

Aoife lay sprawled over her bed, her riding skirts still spread out around her. The day had been long, and though Vishay's company had not been as easy or as captivating as Iaian's, (why must I always compare the two! She thought exasperatedly) she was still exhausted by the long ride and the stiff formalities that were required when riding with a nobleman. When she rode with Iaian, she hardly had to worry about those things--she could converse easily with him about anything-- her healer's lessons with Duke Baird, the weather, the silly court gossip, even about Eldorne and Reagan, if she were feeling particularly open.

Through those talks about her family and her brother, Aoife sometimes felt that she was reacquainting herself with her past, reliving it with a new eye. And, in the few conversations when Iaian would talk with her about his past, she would press him for details about her brother- the man he knew as Ray. His memories of Reagan were few, but Aoife craved any detail. His information wasn't enough to make her feel she knew him again; it only made her more eager to find out any more about him.

_Well, I suppose I won't be able to pester Iaian for more information anytime soon, _she thought morosely. _Even when he returns, he might still be angry with me. All this time, I haven't received a word from him. _His absence was tangible, and everyday, while angry about his abrupt flight, she still checked her mail anxiously for any news, any new letter he might send. Some days, she forgot that he wasn't simply at work or in his quarters. She'd observe some ridiculously brainless comment made by Silly, Millie, or Dumb, or hear a new snatch of court gossip, and think to remember it, because Iaian would find it amusing, only to have realization crush back down upon her. Sometimes, it was enough to effectively ruin her mood; other times it only made her angry that he would have done such a thing as leaving without telling her.

On those times when she felt particularly angry (or at least as angry as she could ever be at Iaian) she would muster up the courage to flirt just a _little _bit more with the court boys, reminding herself that she was here to find a husband, that she had a duty. However, she could not keep up a convincing act for long; she was seldom able to forget the void she felt. However, she did have a little ammunition against the depression (not heartache, she told herself. She refused to even contemplate the word _love, _especially with Iaian gone. She was here to find a husband. Duty, she reminded herself yet again.) She smiled slightly as she remembered the events of the past two days…

* * *

Buri's dark eyes had been filled with compassion and interest as she looked up at the taller Court Lady. Her voice was smooth as she asked, "Have you heard from your parents yet?" Her words brought Aoife back to that morning, and the momentous letters she had received. Of course, she was overjoyed by the ring, and loved it dearly, but another letter had come that morning, one she had put off reading for as long as she could. Finally, though, she had known that she could not put it off any longer, or risk being late for her riding appointment with Buri. So, carefully, she had drawn a breath and steeled herself for the reply. _Please, Goddess…_

_Aoife Mairi,_

_I write to you today in response to your previous letter. It is good to know that you have settled into the Court routine, and hope that you are mindful to your duty and obligation. However, your request was, to say the least, alarming. You have been sent to Corus to become a Court Lady, and to find a suitable husband, as we agreed. I was extremely displeased to hear that you have been associating with such people, and engaging activities that cannot be considered ladylike, as befits your station. As I have already told you, you are in Corus to find a husband, not to exercise your foolish pastimes. As you have probably seen, fighting is not a way of life fit for a female-- look at deceiving witch of Trebond, or that new trollop from Mindelan… neither of them was ever able to find a decent husband!_

Aoife fumed. She knew that her family still partly blamed Alanna for her Aunt's death, but Delia had been the traitor, not the Lioness. And Kel was her friend!

_As such, I do not deem it appropriate that you associate with such people. And I do not approve of you joining the Queen's Ladies, or engaging in anything associated with fighting or violence. _

Aoife's heart turned to stone. She stared at the parchment in disbelief. They had to know how much this meant to her. Everyone at the Palace had reassured her that not even her parents would turn down this opportunity, and now, she didn't know what to do. They had all been wrong.

There was more to the letter, but Aoife wasn't sure that she wanted to read it. Anger and sadness were beginning to seep up through her disbelief, and she hastily shook away her welling tears as she forced herself to finish the letter.

_Though I do not approve of this position, we also recently received a letter from your brother Lerant, who has already heard of your offer. He has assured us that the Queen Ladies are in no way similar to the unnatural females I have already mentioned. They are true Noble-born ladies in every aspect, and devoted to the Queen, he says. In addition, he mentioned the propitious marriage offers that these ladies have received. _

_It is only at your brother and mother's urgings that I write what I do now: Aoife Mairi, though I do not approve of your associating with such an organization, I will not force you to decline their offer. I have made my own opinion clear. However, at your mother's request, I leave this decision to you. I urge you to remember your duty, and your standing. Your year is already passing. Remember Eldorne. Remember your duty, Aoife Mairi. _

_Sincerely,_

_Your father, __Sir Diederich of Eldorne_

Aoife sat back against the back of her chair. Her hands, she noticed distantly, were trembling as she struggled to absorb what she had just read. "I leave this decision to you…" she murmured to herself. The disbelief she had felt earlier had return, though this time, laced with traces of emerging joy. She could choose… she could join the Ladies!

She sprung from her chair, thinking, _I have to tell Iaian! _Only to realize, once again, that he was gone. Still, she had other people to tell. She ran off to find Vianne, and, more importantly, to thank Lerant.

* * *

Aoife had that news to hold against any sadness caused by… a certain someone's absence. She had sent out letters last night, one in response to her father's message, another to the queen. She would meet with Thayet tomorrow to discuss her position. 

Liam and Vianne, when she found them together and shared the new, were overjoyed.

"Good for you, Aoife!" Liam had said. "That's really amazing!" he was as cheerful as always.

"See," Vianne had told her, "I told you that your parents couldn't let you pass up the opportunity," Aoife had simply nodded. She hadn't told anyone about the exact contents of the letter. No one needed to know what her parents thought of her new friends at Court.

* * *

Now, though, she was exhausted by her time spent with Vishay; there was nothing more she could accomplish tonight. So, stripping off her mud-splattered riding clothes, she left them in the basket for the maid to collect them, and put on her nightgown. 

She lay back against the pillows, her mind whirling with the events of the past few days. She was going to join the Queen's Ladies; maybe things were looking up!

* * *

That night, she slept fitfully, her mind fraught with flickering images. In her dream, she was locked in a jail cell, somewhere in the Palace dungeons. She wore a tattered linen dress; her hair was messy and unkempt. As she peered around the darkness, she observed another figure, sitting on a cot across the room. Shadows played across the corner of the room, making their features indistinguishable. 

Curious, Aoife walked over closer to the figure; it was a woman who sitting on the cot. Her hair, which looked as if had once been thick and dark, hung limply around her face, streaked with grey and white. The woman could not have been older than fifty, though harsh wrinkles crossed her face, masking to features which Aoife could see were once delicate and proud. Dark, fathomless sea-green eyes peered back at her from inside the wrinkled skin. The weathering of time had not been able to completely erased the pert nose and full red lips. Aoife could not stifle a gasp; the woman was herself.

"Who-who are you?" she asked, fearing the response.

It was her own voice that answered, though aged and tired. "Why, I'm you, Aoife Mairi. Don't you recognize me?"

_No! It can't be! _Aoife thought. Instead, her mouth asked, "Why are you here?" her voice sounded very young and very small.

"Treason, of course," the other Aoife answered. "You can't ignore what runs in your blood, Aoife. It's who you are; you can't deny it"

"No!" Aoife shouted, as the figure before her changed, the face lengthening slightly, the eyes shifting from blue-green to pure, untainted emerald.

"Aoife Mairi. How nice to finally meet you," Delia cackled. "You know, it's no wonder no one in Corus trusts you; you and I are very alike. See, we even look the same."

Aoife's eyes widened, glaring daggers at the older woman. "No," she said softly. "I'm not like you. I'm _not." _she growled.

"Isn't that positively _noble _of you?" Delia said harshly. "You can't deny what's in your blood, Aoife. You're a traitor, just like me. All your so-called "friends;" Prince Liam, Iaian Hunter, they only bother with you because they've been told to watch you. Face it Aoife. You're a traitor like me!"

"No! No…No!" Aoife repeated. She would not be like Delia. She was not a traitor. And Liam and Iaian… they were her friends. They weren't just faking.

"I won't be like you!" She shouted over Delia's laughter, thrusting herself away from the old woman, and awoke with a start as she fell out of her bed. Her nightgown was soaked with sweat; she breathed heavily as she repeated the words that lingered on her lips… "I won't be like her. I _won't."_

It took her a while to realize that everything had only been a nightmare; it had felt so _real. _Delia's words about her friends had shaken her to her core. But Delia was dead, wasn't she? Surely she couldn't be right.

It was a long time before she could fall asleep again.

* * *


	13. Confusedknight's back!

**(-a/n- **Hi there it's **confusedknight** again! I'm so, so sorry for the massive delay with this chapter; I've overrun my deadline by so many weeks that I don't even want to think about it…but never mind, with exams etc. it can't be helped. I just hope that you enjoy this chapter :D )

Muchos love to all our faithful reviewers,

**Confusedknight **xxx

* * *

Confusion and anger flitted across Reagan's handsome face.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he blustered. 'I don't have a sister, Mithros bless it, I don't even have a family, as I'm sure I must've told you before-'

'I'm not stupid Ray,' replied Iaian bluntly. 'You insult me by feigning ignorance. You look so similar, Gods-curse it she even told me that she had a brother called Reagan. You're so alike…' he trailed off, a pained expression on his face at the thought of Aoife's face.

Reagan froze for a moment and then he slumped, like a man who had given up the fight. He had been running for far too long, and now, in the company of one of his oldest and dearest friends he could deny his past no longer.

'Aoife,' he mouthed the unfamiliar name soundlessly, his eyes filling with tears at the thought of the sister he barely knew. 'Oh Gods,' he murmured as he wiped fruitlessly at his overflowing eyes.

'Why don't we step inside?' suggested Iaian, awkward at the other man's distress.

They returned to Iaian's office in the cold stone tower. With a muttered word and a flourish of his hand, the dark-haired mage conjured a roaring fire in the empty grate. The dancing flames immediately began to warm the room, banishing the early winter's chill.

'So…Reagan of Eldorne-'

The red-haired man flinched visibly. 'Don't-' he began, 'just don't.'

Iaian regarded him with bottomless green eyes. 'Why did you hide?' he asked, confusion lacing his voice.

'You don't understand,' whispered Reagan. 'You can't understand what it was like to be imprisoned in _that _place, day in, day out for seventeen years. No one _talks_, no one ever says _anything_. You skirt around the family as though it's shameful to enjoy each other's company.

You don't know how it feels to be shunned by the villagers who rightfully hate you for what your blood has bought down upon them, to receive no news of the outside world because people are afraid to come within ten miles of your home.' He took a shuddering breath.

'It was suffocating. I thought I would go mad. Even Lerant and Aoife hardly spoke. Can you even imagine how hard it was to watch her growing up, knowing that she would be just like me, deprived of a normal childhood, deprived of love…' Reagan turned his head away.

'I'm not proud of what I did, far from it, but I _had_ to get out. With no titles to drag me down I gained an apprenticeship to a respected healer, and I haven't looked back.' He looked at Iaian, despair evident in his eyes, 'For the first time I had _friends_, people who would talk to me without criticism or insult. People would come into the surgery and talk to me. Just about simple things; their newborn grandchild, or next-door neighbour's dog, but for the first time in my life I was accepted, respected and encouraged to do something that I was good at.'

'And yet you never contacted them, never even let your own sister know that you were still alive?' asked Iaian disbelievingly. 'Did you never think how much pain it would cause Lerant and Aoife when you left?'

Reagan nodded miserably, 'A thought that haunts me, but I hoped that they too would find their way in life, away from _that _place.'

'They have,' nodded Iaian slowly, 'but they never lied about their heritage. Never lied to their _friends_.'

'I'm sorry,' apologised Reagan, 'but once you start lying, it's very difficult to stop. You begin to like the way that you're treated, so much so that going back to the way it was before seems impossibly hard…' he trailed off.

'Tell me about them Iaian, I haven't seen them in over seven years.'

The dark-haired mage considered his old friend for a moment. 'Lerant joined the King's Own, about three years after you left. He was a standard-bearer to Lord Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie's peak. I would've imagined that it was hard for him at the beginning. But he's won the respect of those he works alongside, not only my Lord, but also Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan and Captain Flyndan. I've seen him around court, but he looks different to you, that's why I didn't make a connection.'

'And Aoife?' asked Reagan eagerly, like a child craving stories.

'Aoife…' said Iaian, trying to ignore the tight bands that constricted his chest, 'Aoife looks so like you. She has different hair to you; long, black and straight. But your eyes…they could be identical. She's grown into a fine young woman, attracting all the men from Prince Liam downwards at the Court balls.' Iaian released how bitter he sounded and rectified his tone.

'She's also received an invitation to join the Queen's ladies; she shoots like Weiryn himself and I should know –she shot me once, and then healed me soon after. I even heard that she played a part in shooting some hurroks several weeks back-' Iaian babbled, sure that his description couldn't do justice to Aoife, a girl unlike any he'd ever met.

'She healed you?' asked Reagan, eyes alight with interest.

Iaian nodded in confirmation, 'She passed out soon afterwards, but Duke Baird has promised to give her some tuition.'

'Duke Baird,' Reagan whistled. 'And the Queen's ladies,' he shook his head in wonderment, 'I never thought they'd accept Eldorne's at the palace.'

'Who said anything about being accepted?' growled Iaian. 'Most decent folk, like the Queen and Lord Raoul, don't give a hoot. But your siblings still bear the brunt of your Aunt's treachery everyday. They receive threatening letters, insults and get spat upon regularly. They have to prove themselves over and over, because no matter what they do it'll never be enough in the eyes of some.'

'And here you sit, safe and comfortable as the heroic healer of the Scanran war, whilst they are doing everything within their power to return your fief to a mere shred of it's former glory. Aoife is prepared to sacrifice her own happiness for Eldorne; she has to marry someone rich and powerful, instead of someone who will love her and take care of her always…'

'Instead of you,' breathed Reagan. 'Mithros, you love her!'

And in that instant, Iaian was able to decipher his confused feelings of rejection and resentment.

'I love her,' he whispered to himself. 'I love Aoife,' and with those three words, came the realisation that he had to stop Vishay's plan, whatever the personal cost.

'You're in love with my sister, little Aoife,' chuckled Reagan disbelievingly.

'If you could come to court, tell everyone who you are-'

'No,' interrupted Reagan.

'But people respect you and you admitted yourself that you're going to be awarded the Healer's cross. Do you know how much good that would do for Eldorne?'

'I can't,' he replied firmly. 'I left all that behind seven years ago,' Reagan said flatly. 'I speak to you because you are my friend, but I _can't _face it, I just can't. Aoife, Lerant, they are so much stronger than me, but Eldorne is not part of who I am anymore. You don't understand, Iaian, how can you possibly understand?'

'Oh I understand,' said Iaian, his eyes dangerously dark. 'And because I understand, I know that you will _never _be free. Your past isn't just something you can hide away and forget about. It's a part of who you are, and if you deny a part of you, then you can never be a complete person. You're a coward, Reagan of _Eldorne,_ and if you can't do this for Aoife and Lerant, then I'm afraid this is where we go our separate ways.'

The red-haired healer got up slowly and left without another word, leaving Iaian breathing heavily, trying to control his anger.

_You're a hypocrite, _he told himself. _You chastise Ray for hiding his past and yet you cannot bring yourself to tell anyone about your own past. _

And so Iaian sat, face in hands for many hours, trying to decide what he should do, battling with himself, his fears and his love. Several hours later, when he requested a meeting with Ray to apologise for his harsh words, he was told that "Healer Reagan" had requested a transfer to a western fort.

Guilty that he had now upset two of the Eldorne family, Iaian returned to his study to prepare for his journey to Corus.

* * *

Aoife twisted her hands behind her back, trying to unleash her anxiety.

'It won't help your nerves if you dislocate you fingers,' someone pointed out quietly.

Aoife spun around. Queen Thayet had appeared, silent, graceful and ever beautiful. Aoife opened her mouth to speak but shut it again, realising that she had nothing to say.

'Don't worry,' soothed Thayet. 'Just give them a chance to get to know you and it'll be fine.'

'But they're all from well known, well respected fiefs,' blurted out Aoife. 'What if they think I'm not good enough to serve you.'

'What _they_ think doesn't matter Aoife,' said the Queen firmly. After a pause she said, 'Did you know that when I lived in Sarain, my father would pray publicly every morning for a son, because a daughter wasn't good enough in his eyes.' She closed her eyes briefly; obviously the memory still hurt. 'Never let anyone tell you how to be, or that you aren't good enough, because after a while you'll start to believe them. You'll deceive yourself, be overcome by inadequacy and you'll never achieve anything.'

'I've invited you to be part of the Queen's ladies; _my_ ladies in waiting. If I didn't think that you were capable, I wouldn't have asked you. It's as simple as that.'

Aoife nodded, her throat too dry to speak and she followed her Queen into a large, airy room where about fourteen or so women were seated.

All of the ladies sat up a little straighter as the Queen entered, murmuring their greetings.

'This is Lady Aoife of Eldorne,' Queen Thayet introduced, 'she will be joining our ranks, to replace Annalise. I expect you all to make her feel welcome and help her settle in to our way of life.' She cast her eyes around the room, 'Uline, would you like to sponsor Aoife?'

'Of course Thayet,' she replied, sending Aoife the only smile out of a room of faces full of barely disguised shock or horror.

'Uline haMinch,' she curtsied gracefully. Aoife returned the curtsy and followed Uline out into another set of rooms, listening to the young woman's chatter.

'The Queen's ladies, or "the royal ladies" will act as ladies-in-waiting to the Queen on a day to day basis. But we have to be able to ride and fight, mainly using bows in case of emergencies. Our main priority is to protect the Queen.' Uline ushered Aoife into a corridor.

'A couple of us are also mages, able to protect the Queen from others wielding the gift and some are healers. Do you have the gift?'

'I can heal a little,' replied Aoife meekly.

'Well you'll have to be trained up a bit, and that will be a useful talent. Now, where was I?' Uline directed Aoife outside.

'Our other roles include waiting on the Queen at state functions and entertaining the ladies-in-waiting from foreign embassies. The Queen wants dependable women, who are capable of protecting her, keeping up with her on horseback and also trustworthy friends. If you impress Thayet, which I suspect you already have, then she will value your input. She quite often discusses with us, matters of the law, matters which men will argue for months over and sometimes need a woman's practical thinking to settle things out.'

They turned down towards the stables.

'You'll be given two mounts, most likely small mares, sturdy and dependable. Do you ride?'

'Whenever I can,' Aoife smiled, feeling a little more confident in Uline's easy-going presence.

'That's good; some ladies who join have never sat on a horse before in their life. Do you use any weapons?'

'Only the bow,' shrugged Aoife, 'I used to enjoy hunting.'

Uline nodded, 'You'll receive further instruction in the bow, but also in staff work. We normally spend the morning practising our riding and weapons, then we have lunch together. After lunch you'll be free to do whatever you want to do. Then we normally meet again in the early evening for a chat and some embroidery.'

Uline showed Aoife down to a private archery range and a few indoor practice courts, before heading back up to the east wing of the palace, where the "day rooms" were.

As they entered, every head turned towards Aoife and many disapproving glances were sent her way.

'Now that Aoife and Uline have returned, shall we make our way down to the archery range?' suggested Thayet smoothly. 'We should be able to get an hour of practice in before lunch time.'

The ladies all rose and departed, chattering quietly.

'Go and change into some breeches,' advised Uline. 'That's what I'm going to do. I'll meet you down there in ten minutes.'

Aoife nodded and left, hurrying up to her room, all the while thanking the Goddess for Thayet's tact; archery was something that Aoife could do well, something that might change the other's negative opinions of her.

_Please don't let me make a fool of myself, _she prayed silently, as she pulled on some breeches and a shirt.

Unsure of whether they would be provided with bows or not, Aoife picked up her own longbow and headed down to the archery range.

* * *

**-a/n- **I hope it was worth the wait! Please leave a review :D

**Confusedknight xxx**


	14. Madeleine Shepard's Encore!

-a/n- Okay, everyone, here it is! Sorry if I kept you waiting too long. I tried to throw a whole heck of a lot of plot into this, I felt that things were simmering along rather slowly so I turned up the heat. Here's to high stakes!

* * *

"Iaian, tell us what's wrong with you, for the love of gods." The voice broke through the stream of thoughts twisting through the mage's head, and it brought him back to the present with a nasty jolt. Two blue-gray pools stared at him with a curious concern. Daine sat across the heavy wooden table, finishing a bowl of something gray and sticky. Iaian looked down at his own breakfast, drawing his spoon drearily through the mess.

"Nothing," he lied. Everything. So many things had gotten out of hand--where could he start? He wasn't supposed to have even liked the Eldorne girl, and yet here he was, painfully coming to terms with feelings he hadn't known he was capable of. Instead of doing the right thing; instead of staying with her, he ran away. To make matters worse, he had driven her brother back into anonymity, possibly squelching any hope she had of seeing him again. The thought of telling her that little piece of information made his chest tighten.

But even that paled in comparison to Vishay's plans. Iaian had tried several times throughout the night to contact Vishay, but he was quite clearly being ignored. When he checked on Aoife that morning, with the aid of the water bowl, she was wearing his ring. The sight made his stomach clench with some unfamiliar possessiveness. He shouldn't have sent it at all. Vishay would see it, and he had been so close to guessing the truth earlier that it would be clear to him now.

"Iaian. Whatever it is that's on your mind, you know you can tell us," Numair added, his arm around Daine's waist. Iaian decided it wouldn't hurt to tell them about Ray at least; he could trust his teacher.

"I saw Aoife's brother here yesterday," he informed them.

"Lerant?"

"No, she has another brother. One who has been missing for years." Iaian told them the story, leaving out the part about how he might possibly be in love with Aoife.

"Reagan requested to leave the fort? He certainly couldn't have left already, it takes time to arrange for transportation," Numair reasoned. "Why don't you find him and sort things out?"

The thought of Ray running away, especially after learning of his sister's debut at court, made Iaian's blood buzz, but Numair had a point. There was still time to fix this. He smiled appreciatively at his friends. They continued to eat in silence, and just a bit of the weight seemed to lift from Iaian's tortured heart.

Suddenly, Daine's spoon clattered to the table and her body went rigid.

"Numair?" Her voice was a whisper, barely audible. Numair turned, and, seeing the terrified look on her face, took her icy hands in his. "Numair," she repeated, "something is very, very wrong."

Iaian was familiar with Daine's uncanny ability to predict the presence of Immortals, like the warning she had given when the Hurroks had attacked them in the meadow. He felt a flash of pain as he remembered the fear he had felt being in that situation with Aoife. Everything led back to her—every memory was her, as if he had only begun to live when he met her.

Daine had never looked so bewildered. Her face was pale and her fingers trembled as she reached for Numair, who forced her to drink some water and speak. Finally, she stopped shaking enough to tell them.

"There are . . . Immortals. More than I've ever seen. More than I ever believed existed. And they're coming here."

* * *

Aoife reveled in the crisp autumn air of Tortall as she rode alongside Uline. It was her first real outing with the Queen's Ladies, and for the first time in weeks, the part of her that ached when she thought of Iaian was quiet. She loved being with the ladies. They weren't as rough around the edges as Kel, since they were still courtiers at heart, but they weren't stuffy and preoccupied with fripperies like the younger debutantes.

Thayet was a few horses ahead, laughing with an ease that melted through the group and lifted Aoife's spirits even more. She loved her queen, and she loved Corus. She began to feel her fear of turning into Delia burn away. How could anyone hate these wonderful people and want to hurt them?

As the group rounded the top of a small hill, the capital city of Corus greeted them. If it was possible, the city looked even more majestic from above. But Uline was not looking at the city. Below them, riding at breakneck speed, was a rider—from the looks of it, a knight of the King's Own.

Uline lowered her bow, which she had drawn the moment she saw the newcomer. Aoife wished she could be as perceptive. She had quite a bit to learn before she could adequately protect and serve her queen.

The rider approached, and Aoife didn't recognize his face. Thayet trotted to meet him, and the wind carried their voices back to the girl's ears.

"Your Majesty, I was sent to warn you that several servants have fallen ill."

"That's hardly an occurrence, good knight. Who sent you?"

"Raoul, Majesty." The name elicited a puzzled expression from the queen. If the news was from Goldenlake, it couldn't be a trivial matter.

"What sort of illness?" Thayet's voice was careful, calm, but Aoife could detect a note of alarm.

"Raoul says it's the same as what happened when he was a squire. A fever."

Thayet did not respond, but heeled her horse's flank and streamed down the hill. The other ladies, seeming to grasp something Aoife had missed, followed in a flurry, leaving Aoife alone on the hilltop.

* * *

Iaian shivered. Next to him, in the dim candlelight of a inner conference room, Daine was dutifully describing her premonitions to the fort's officials.

"Stormwings, you say? They haven't been out since . . ."

"Yes, I know. But that's what they are." Daine's body tensed simply at the memory of Stormwings, possibly the most hated of Immortals, especially to her. Other than the few who had won her trust, like Rikash, the species was brutal and ruthless.

To prove it to them, Daine led the officials to the top of the main tower, scanning the horizon for any evidence of the impending arrival.

"They're about twenty miles away. It won't take them long, they've got a purpose. And it's not just Stormwings. There are humans, and other Immortals." As they watched, Numair's black robes billowed in the wind. Suddenly, a dark gray curtain began to rise from the edge of their visibility, exactly twenty miles away.

"Is that a storm?" One of the younger soldiers asked.

"No," replied a steely Numair. "That is roughly four thousand Stormwings flying straight at us."

The fort's commander, finally realizing the graveness of the situation, began barking orders, and the three mages were jostled aside.

Numair closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to contact the castle. Daine was already stringing her bow and Iaian could tell by the grim line of her mouth that she was communicating with the animals of the area, telling some to run, some to stay and help.

"It's not working," Numair half-shouted above the din of unpracticed soldiers bearing up for a fight. "I can't see Thayet, or anyone in Corus. It's like there's a shield around it."

Iaian had heard of such things, and reached out with his own less powerful magic. Sure enough, there was a hazy fog around Corus that his magic couldn't touch. "Oh, Great Mother Goddess," he murmured under his breath. Aoife was there, without him to defend her.

"I'm going back to Corus," he announced to the other two. "I'm sorry, I don't want to leave you two here, but I have to go—to—" His voice broke and his shoulders slumped.

"I left her there..." He was sure he whispered the last part, but Daine laid her hand on his.

"Aoife will be fine. And yes, you will go back. We're all three of us going to go back. There is no way this fort will hold up to an attack, especially with only you, Numair and I with any skills worth having in this fight." Through the dull haze that was Iaian's regret and anger at himself, her words made sense.

Numair chimed in. "The fort can protect against Scanran humans, but not Immortals. I'm suggesting to the commander that they lay low. The Immortals don't want this fort—they're headed for Corus. And we've got to get there first."

Even Iaian knew that that was impossible. "How are we going to outrun Stormwings?"

"With a dragon," Daine replied simply. "It's time I called in a favor."

* * *

By nightfall, over forty people in the castle had come down with the fever. The city was abuzz with panic, and Aoife paced back and forth in her room. Outside her door, she could hear the clattering footsteps of maids and servants running back and forth, collecting supplies to fill a mess hall with cots and linens for the ill. The words "Sweating Sickness" reverberated off the walls, repeated by twittering groups of girls running to the safety of their rooms, and by the older knights who remembered the last time this had happened. In fact, as Aoife made her way from the stables to her own room, she caught a glimpse of Donovan of Captain's Ridge.

His voice trailed as he rounded the corner, but she caught a few words.

". . . coincidence that the Eldorne arrived just before the Sweating Sickness . . . just like last time . . . "

Like a nightmare being relived, Aoife saw her future unraveling, the hope of Eldorne crashing down again.

No. She would fight. She would show them that she cared about Thayet, and Corus, and all of Tortall for that matter. Tears stinging her eyes, she ran to the Infirmary. The heat nearly overwhelmed her. In neat rows along the wall, white beds with twisted white sheets held the patients, most of whom were as still as salt, pale and drenched in their own sweat. Healers worked at dabbing cool cloths on them, or attending to the ones who were half-conscious and delirious. The windows were closed, and the dingy, damp interior felt like a bog. Aoife could not understand how such a thing could have happened so quickly. Only a few hours ago, everything was fine; she had been riding outside, enjoying the day, and now, lives were hanging in the balance.

She saw Duke Baird in the corner, wiping his own hands on a towel. His face was drawn, his eyes already exhausted. A spark jumped in them when he saw Aoife.

"Aoife, we could use another healer," he admitted. "I'd want you to stick to small things, changing linens or maybe soothing a few of them, nothing major. Do you think you can do it?"

Aoife looked around. Thankfully, none of the faces were familiar, but the looks of twisted pain or delusional euphoria scared her. She thought of Buri, and Kel, and Thayet, and all the other strong people she had met when she came to Corus. This was no longer about courting wealthy noblemen, about saving something as silly and fleeting as a reputation. This was life, and she admired her new friends even more, for she had grown up on the tales of their bravery.

"Duke Baird, I'd be honored to help. I'll do as much as I can."

* * *

Aoife spent the first several hours mopping sweat from brows, stoking the fires, and retying the cloth she wore over her face to keep out the stench. Duke Baird assured her that this kind of sickness wasn't contagious—it was magical, and whatever or whoever was controlling it could choose who fell ill. Still, she couldn't help but feel the unwell seep into her bones, filling her nostrils as she worked.

Around midnight, the fever broke in many of the patients, and Aoife concentrated on making them comfortable, bringing them slowly back to consciousness, nursing them back to health. But there were so many more still in need, and in the quietest hour of the morning, she found her way to the bed of the youngest person there, a girl of only nine or ten. Her dark brown hair sprawled in messy, matted waves over the pillow, but her face, even in the pallor of illness, was lovely, full of the flesh of youth. Aoife took her head and began to hum a lullaby. More than anyone else in the room, Aoife wanted this girl to get better. Like she did with Iaian that first day, she closed her eyes, and fell into the whirlpool of her own mind. She imagined the girl's body, a web of muscles and bones like she had studied in Duke Baird's books. She explored it like the halls of a cavern, breezing down veins, skating along on the tiniest cells that comprised the girl's body. She followed her nose—she could smell a place somewhere that was impure, that was radiating heat. She reached it—it was a clump of blackish-bluish wires, constantly moving, knotting. Aoife's mind touched the end of a wire, and she almost was yanked out of the body with the electric pain that shot up her spine. She held on, and began to untangle the wires. Finally, they lay in three separate, curling, threads, and she grabbed the end of one, guiding it out of the girl's body like pulling a feather out of a down comforter. Then the next one, then the last. They disappeared as soon as she opened her eyes, perhaps they had never existed concretely. The girl's cheeks were flushed, and to Aoife's amazement, her breathing was deeper, faster, and her eyelids flittered open, revealing two golden eyes, confused and seeking.

Duke Baird, across the room, looked up in amazement. Aoife had healed someone—not just kept the fever from getting worse, but completely and permanently healed someone.

* * *

It was early morning before Aoife was allowed back to her room to nap. She had healed three more people, but the process took longer and longer each time, and more were falling ill as it was. The worst news of the morning came when Baird took her aside and told her that Liam was sick. He expected her to keep it confidential, it wouldn't do to scare the citizens with tales of sick princes. Aoife tried to go to Liam, thinking she could try healing him, but the guards to the royal chambers ignored her, turning her away like a child trying to stay up past her bedtime. She asked to see Thayet, but the knight kindly reminded her that she was needed downstairs. Through her frustration, Aoife began to see the two rejections as more than coincidence. They were keeping her away from the crown. They didn't trust her. Even after the queen had invited her to be one of her ladies, they still harbored a shred of mistrust. Aoife wiped the tears from her eyes. She would have sobbed if she had had any energy left. She stumbled along the corridor, blindly seeking her room, her bed. As she drew closer, she heard shouting.

"What do you mean she's in the basement?" The voice was indignant, and familiar. . . but Aoife didn't want to get her hopes up. It was probably just because she was tired, hallucinating. But it certainly sounded like him . . .

Aoife turned the corner to see the tall mage, dark with anger, nearly abusing a maid who was trying to squeak out an explanation. Iaian heard the footsteps and released the poor girl's shoulders, trying to maintain an ounce of decorum and not look like a deranged person. He whirled around to face the newcomer, but melted instantly when he saw who it was. The two sets of turquoise eyes locked on each other, and a whole conversation took place between their souls. No words were needed. He had come back.

Iaian took the first step, but Aoife wasn't far behind. He crushed her into his arms, and she clung to him, burying her face into his neck like a child. After a long moment, he set her back onto the floor. She hadn't even realized that he had lifted her. She stared up at him, again unable to break his gaze, and in his eyes she saw a whorl of pain and intensity.

"Please don't leave me again," she whispered.

"I won't, Aoife. I promise." He still had her hands imprisoned in his, and she let him lead her into her room and put her into the bed, fully clothed. He perched on the edge, staring at the face that had haunted him every night of his stay on the Scanran Border.

"Baird said you've been healing," he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. He had been so worried about her.

"Yes." Aoife's eyes were closed, and with Iaian so close, everything seemed to be right again. She felt the slightest brush, it may have been a fingertip, trace the curve of her face from cheek to chin. "You must be tired if you traveled," she mumbled.

Aoife tugged on Iaian's sleeve, forcing him to lie beside her, on top of the sheets. The moment of their reunion was so vulnerable, so raw, that it didn't occur to them that it was improper for Iaian to be in her room with the door closed. She didn't care anymore about being mad at him for leaving, she was just so thankful that he was back. And Iaian could not have been more relieved to see her safe. Their conflicts disappeared, and both felt a strange sense of calm, and peace.

Aoife opened her eyes to find her face inches from his. Amazingly, she was at once completely awake, and nerves jumped like beans in her stomach. For a moment no one spoke.

Then Iaian tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Even after being up all night in that mess, you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Iaian looked down, ashamed. "I'm sorry I was such a dolt. I truly didn't mean any of it."

"I . . . I think I knew that," Aoife responded. "I'm sorry for goading you." She took a deep breath. She spoke the words before thinking, but she knew they were the truth. "You know that I'm not interested in anyone but . . . you."

"And I you." Ian's hand found the curve of her hip, and his intense turquoise stare darkened just a tad. I've quite a bit of news, but I suppose it can wait," Iaian murmured incoherently, amazed that everything had fallen so easily into place. That's what it was like with Aoife, easy. He didn't need to grovel, or explain himself. She already knew how he felt.

They were almost asleep, everything mended between them, when a loud, incessant knocking disturbed them. Someone was at her door, and it sounded like it was a very strong male.

"Aoife Mairi of Eldorne, open your door! This is a command from the King." Iaian pulled himself up reluctantly, puzzled and half-asleep. Aoife straightened her dress, looking just as confused as Iaian. She crossed to the door and opened it to three members of the King's Own, in full regalia.

"Aoife of Eldorne, you are under arrest for suspicion of high treason."

* * *

-a/n-

And there you are! I had so much fun writing this chapter- I was on the edge of my own seat!! I hope it wasn't too much to throw out there. And what a nasty cliffhanger! Of course, there's still a lot left to figure out. What is that sketchy Vishay up to, and will Reagan turn up again? Will Aoife be able to get out of this mess? Cry of the Wolf Child writes next!


	15. Wolf Child Creeps Back In

A/N – Welcome to another chapter in this lovely story. It's proceeding marvelously well and I can't say how enjoyable this whole experience is. Anyway, on with the show!

ETA: I am so sorry this has taken so long. Life caught up with me and my muse went to Bermuda. I deeply apologize to everyone.

~CotWC

In a sparsely furnished room at the end of the long infirmary, Reagan was packing his things. He'd requested a transfer, and though he knew it would be some time before he was given a new assignment, he needed to do something, anything with his hands so he wouldn't think. The healer knew that if he had the time to think, he'd realize Iaian had been right, that he was a coward, and then he might do something rash. Like revealing his heritage to the entire fort.

His hands freezing in mid fold on one of his tunics, Ray let out a low moan and turned, slamming his fist into the wall. He leaned against the solid wood paneling, his knees giving way as he shuddered with repressed sobs. Reagan had never been quite like his family. That was why he had run away at sixteen to take the University entrance exams. He couldn't stand being surrounded by stone walls and stone people, watching his bright little sister turn to ash and his hot-shot little brother become a combustion spell waiting to explode.

Outside, in the real world, the rest of Tortall had allowed Reagan to be just Ray. Himself and nothing more, nothing less. It had been nice for a while, but then he'd realized he would never be able to give his real name and see people's eyes alight with recognition of a noble. Over the years he'd grown used to it, however, and he found new friends. People like Iaian Hunter, who could accept him as the mage and intellectual he was without spitting on his family name first.

Rolling over so he was seated with his spine against the wall, Reagan tilted his head back, finally letting the tears slide down his cheeks, rough with auburn stubble. The sobs shook his body for the first time in years. To have lost a friend like Iaian was a horrible blow, something Ray wasn't sure he could ever repair. He had been a fool to hide so much from a man like Iaian. Someone that mysterious had to have secrets of his own.

And Aoife. What would he do about her? He hadn't seen her since she was eleven, when he ran away. She must have grown into a beautiful young woman; the family always said she'd looked like Delia as a child. At Court that must be a curse and a boon to her. And she could heal. Reagan knew that he was the first one in the Eldorne line with a Gift powerful enough to do anything in thirty generations. And now his little sister had something of it too.

Reagan didn't know how long he walked through his memories of home, his tears continuing to slip over the contours of his face. He led his mind back, back to the beginning of his memories when he was just a boy. His mother had been pregnant with Aoife and she'd grown as big as a house…or so it had seemed to the small five and four year old brothers the new baby would have. Ray remembered how bright and joyous his mother had been, and how that had changed as the years progressed.

A few years after Aoife's birth, Ray remembered how she'd tagged along after him and Lerant. They'd be practicing weapons or roaming through the woods, and she'd want to follow and do what they did. She was quite cheeky as a child. Ray wondered if her white smile and sparkling eyes had been dulled by the prison of their home since he'd last seen her. So many things had changed and he knew none of it. If Reagan ever let himself think about that he would break down, which was why he so rarely dwelt on the past.

Another memory flashed to the forefront, of a time right before he'd run away. Lerant had been sulking because he'd been denied pagedom for another year. At fifteen, he was still trying to work their parents around to letting him go. Aoife was nowhere to be seen, but Ray had known she had been angry. He'd headed out to her favorite spot, knowing that she'd be practicing her archery. When he'd gotten there, he had watched her for a while, before they exchanged some words. It amounted to her shooting down a goose and fleeing, fuming, not even caring enough to retrieve her kill. She had not been much happier the day before he left, and when she woke the morning after, Reagan had been nowhere to be found.

The salt had dried on his cheeks by the time the call to assemble was issued through the fort. Lifting himself from the veils of his reverie, Ray stood up stiffly and made his way to the mess hall where the Captain would address the denizens of the fort.

When he reached the square at the center of the fort's barracks and out buildings, Reagan caught a last glimpse of a trio of riders. He recognized them instantly, pausing to watch as Iaian Hunter left, not knowing if they would ever speak to each other again. One last thing gave him hope, however. Ray saw Iaian glance over his shoulder and looked directly at Reagan as he was about to ride out of the gates.

When the tall wooden slabs had thudded shut again, Ray continued on his way, observing an odd grayish haze on the north-western horizon. It couldn't be clouds, but he sincerely doubted it was benign. Knowing that no matter what happened the rest of the day or the rest of his life, Reagan refused to run anymore. He would not turn his back on what he was, what he had always been.

A son of Eldorne.

----------------

Iaian's breath came fast and shallow. There was just a thin slab of wood hiding him from the King's soldiers' view. If they saw him, not only would Aoife be arrested, but she'd be discredited as a lady. That was the last thing he wanted. Dredging up the quick thinking he'd learned from his Master and mentor, Iaian cast a speedy, not showy concealment spell. Slinking back into the shadows by Aoife's wardrobe, he waited for the soldiers to take her away. It was the hardest thing he had ever experienced in recent years. Watching the King's Guard take a young innocent to possible torture and worse without being able to help nearly killed him. But Iaian knew he had to keep his head, he had to find a way to get Aoife help properly.

The guards' footsteps, heavy on the stone floors, receded into the distance with the door to Aoife's room still open. Iaian figured there'd be one man left behind to guard the room, possibly to search it for incriminating evidence. Slipping through the door, Iaian held his breath, watching the young soldier outside the door carefully as he slipped down the corridor, his feet quiet as a cat's. His breath rushed in his ears and his heart was pounding so loud he wondered that no one passing in the corridor gave the empty space where he stood strange looks. Perhaps they simply feared being caught staring into space.

Making his way through the winding corridors, Iaian waited till he was in a secluded niche to drop his spell. By the time he had reached his new hiding place, the mage knew exactly where to seek help and that was with the Queen. And the way to get to the Queen was through her most trusted ladies. That meant one thing, finding their sitting room, where they'd all likely be weaving and rolling bandages…or at least the ones without the Gift. This also included seeking out Aoife's closest friend from among the ladies, Uline of haMinch.

Iaian took a moment, pressing his forehead to the cool stone and pinching the bridge of his nose, to think and collect his nerves. He needed a calm head to reason with the King and Queen, and being upset by this new hitch would not help Aoife or himself. Brushing his dark hair back from his face, he reassembled himself and headed down the corridor again, this time with a purpose.

It did not take Iaian long for his feet to retrace familiar paths from a time long in his past. A time he would not revisit again, after all, he had promised not to. Soon, he found himself before the door to the Queen's Ladies' parlor and sitting room. Taking a breath, he knocked once.

The door quickly opened, revealing the beautiful features of the woman he most wanted to see. Well, second most, because Iaian truly wanted to see Aoife. He managed to give Uline a weak excuse for a smile before she turned, glanced back at the other women who were dealing with things for healing the sick, and took a step outside while shutting the door behind her. The fine cotton of her gown swept across the floor as she moved farther in to the hall way.

Iaian waited with baited breath as she looked him over, her black hair in waves around her shoulders.

"Hello, Master Hunter, what sort of crisis could bring you here in such a state?" Uline's voice was curious and caring, but there was also a hint of remembered hurt. Whether that pain was on his behalf, Iaian was not sure. He never really knew where Uline had stood during that particular time in his past.

"Good day, Lady Uline." Iaian had enough sense to take this barest of politeness before cutting to the chase. "Lady Aoife has been taken by the King's Guard under suspicion of treason." The tips of his fingers twitched against his thighs, yearning to join and wring his hands, but he was unwilling to display such emotion. It was actually quite rare for Iaian to display much emotion at all.

Iaian watched as Uline's pretty brow furrowed, her eyes widening as she realized the implications of this new development. She made as if to turn back to the sitting room, and then stopped, facing him again with a determined expression set on her face.

"I see. How could I possibly help her?" She watched him, her gaze so fierce it seemed as if she were trying to pierce right through him. The mage was surprised at the impression that Uline did not care that Aoife was wrongly arrested…or perhaps she believed that it was just!

"Aoife's innocent, Uline! I need to speak with the King and Queen to get her free. I'm sure they didn't order her arrest, and if they did, they'll know something we don't!" Iaian was truly desperate. He had not been able to save his past or his sister Gaenna from Vishay's machinations, but he _would_ save Aoife if it was the last thing he did.

Iaian's shoulders sagged with the weight of his relief when Uline agreed to help him, that she believed Aoife innocent.

"Besides," she finished, smiling kindly, "she's been with me or one of the other ladies the entire time she's been here besides the Queen, so she couldn't have done any treasonous act without assistance." Glancing down the hall, she grabbed his arm, ushering him to follow her. "Come, we must find Her Majesty."

Iaian was able to breathe easier as he followed Uline's lead down first one corridor and then another. He knew, just _knew,_ that the King and Queen would understand what was going on and right this wrong done to Aoife. She really didn't deserve it just because she was an Eldorne.

----------------

Her hair was a mess, she knew, but she couldn't bring herself to care. All of her deepest fears and worst nightmares were suddenly becoming a reality and it shook Aoife to her core. Not moving from where the guards had thrown her into the cell, she peered through the veil her hair made across her face. The young woman was so shocked and lost and abandoned that she could only stare into the shadows clinging to the dungeons like spider web.

Aoife had a multitude of emotions warring within her. There was the sensation of betrayal that accompanied her wrongful arrest and the feeling of numbness that she knew had to be shock. And there was worry there, too, not just for herself, but for all those victims of the Sweating Sickness in the Infirmary and throughout the palace. Worry for Liam, and the queen, and her friends. Aoife was also worried about what had happened between her and Iaian upon their reunion.

At the time she had run into him, Aoife had felt like it was the most perfect thing that could have happened in that moment. Then he had lain with her, just resting. And that was what was troubling her now as she sat in the cool bowels of Corus's dungeons. Things with Iaian were happening too fast. And despite the great affection she felt for him, there was still the duty she owed her house. If there was anything she had learned from the past two and a half months at Court, Aoife knew that a return to recognition would be the only thing that could heal everything that had ever happened to the Eldorne's. Even her Aunt Delia's ill-fated birth.

Frustrated, the young lady slammed her palms onto the clammy stone of the cell floor and let a scream fly from her lips. She could hear the startled movements of other prisoners, but she ignored them. They weren't wrongfully imprisoned! Hot tears stung at her lids but Aoife kept her eyes shut against them, returning to her litany of the night of her nightmare. _I will not cry. I cannot cry. Crying won't help at all. I will not cry._

Her mind inevitably turned back to Iaian Hunter the mage she knew she had affection for, but now that her head was clear she wondered if what she felt was enough to be worth defying her family and ruining her chances at an appropriate marriage. But what was appropriate about anything that she had done at Court at all? It certainly couldn't have been appropriate for a non-Convent trained debutante to attract the attention she had this season. Certainly, the attention from the second prince was inappropriate for an Eldorne to have garnered.

And Liam was ill, incredibly ill with the Sweating Sickness. For Tortall's sake, it was a boon that neither Crown Prince Roald nor King Jonathan had fallen ill. None of the other members of the royal family had so much as a sniffle, yet none of them besides the Queen had any personal interaction with Aoife herself. As she began to put the pieces together, from the frightening letter she had received to Liam's illness, the lady feared that her very presence at Court would get a prince and a good friend killed.

It was only luck that only Uline of the Queen's Ladies had become well-known enough to Aoife to be at risk, but Vianne was already sick and Willem had begun to show the signs of the Sweating Sickness as well. If this mysterious whoever wanted so badly to hurt her, Aoife wondered, why hadn't they struck at her and made her fall ill, too? But that made sense as well. They wanted her here, in the dungeons of the palace, arrested for treason.

Feeling a sinking sensation of utter dismay, Aoife slipped back against the back wall of her cell. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she tilted her head forward and let it rest on her knees. Her trembling arms kept her skirt down and her hands warmed her elbows. What warmth they could create in the chill of the dungeons.

A pale hand tossed something into her cell and Aoife jumped at the touch of the rotting apple core on her foot. Looking back at the entrance to her cell, she rose up from the ground, her curiosity overriding any other despairing thought that pervaded her mind. Peering into the shadowy darkness of the corridor between the rows of cells, her blue-green gaze picked out the form of a middle aged man in the cell opposite her. He grinned at her maliciously when he noticed that she had come to the front of the cell.

A cold laugh echoed against the stone walls and the man peered more closely at Aoife while he spoke to her in coarse tones. "I though' I reco'nized you. No mistakin' yer looks. No, sirree. I know who ye must be, spawn of Eldorne" He spat the name of her house and then literally spit on the stone flags of the floor. Glaring back at her, he went on, making Aoife take a frightened step back, "Ye must be traitorous Delia's heiress."

Aoife shut her eyes against his leering grin and twisted her fingers into the fabric of her skirt, now dusty and dirty from the cell floor.

"Who…who are you?"

He merely leered at her from through the bars.

----------------

Their Majesties were to be found in the parlor of their son's rooms. Understandably they were both worried and the strain showed in their faces. When Uline showed Iaian in, his gaze first went to his king and queen. Besides Thayet however was a sight that made the indomitable mage pause. The woman holding her friend's hand was quite a bit older than the last time he'd seen her when he was only a second year student at the University, come to study at Court for a summer with the great Numair Salmalin. Now she wore the colors of her husband and children, a black stag leaping across the light brown of her overdress, full sleeves of orange encircling her lithe arms.

Iaian remembered those arms circling his neck and those rosy lips, now in such a worried form, kissing his own mouth. But his romance with Fianna was in the past and Aoife was his present; if he didn't help her now, she would not be there to be a part of his future. The petite lady rose to speak in a hushed tone with Uline behind him and Iaian was left facing his rulers. Moving forward to kneel before them, the tall, dark man knelt and kept his head bent, unable to look either royal in the face.

"My liege, I cannot go on with this any longer. Whatever Lady Aoife has been imprisoned for is not her fault. If anything, it is mine for not coming to you sooner with the truth." The words were leaden on his tongue, but if he did not say them he would never again be able to respect himself. Or retain what meager dignity he had left.

"The truth? And what would this truth be, Master Hunter?" King Jonathan's smooth voice was indifferent, though Iaian could hear in his tone that eyebrows must be raised at what his subordinate was saying. Iaian took a deep breath, still kneeling at the feet of his king and queen. Resolute, he looked up to meet their gazes with stony blue eyes and decided to start at the very beginning.

"My name is Hunter because of my father's profession and not because of his father. My mother is the Countess of Arpad. Lord Vishay is my half-brother. My father was the illegitimate son of one Sir Alexander of Tirragen. You may ask those who were close to him to verify the fact that he possessed at least one illegitimate child, as I am aware that his servants are still alive in your prison." Pausing to take a breath, Iaian looked towards the floor again, the cold, clasped hands gripping his knee visible at the bottom of his vision.

"No one else knows that my paternal grandfather is Alexander of Tirragen, except my half-brother. He has held it against me all of these years and has used it to drag me into his own trouble. But now this thing is too big, too much, and too irksome to go on with it. He has found a mage from Sarain, a blackrobe. I do not know what they plan or how they plan to do whatever it is they want, but they have targeted Aoife." The mage's head hung even lower at this point, his eyes staring holes into the precious carpet of the private audience chamber. Somehow he found the will to go on and say, "I know because I have sent two letters at Vishay's bidding, with the blackmail of my ancestry hanging above my head."

He knew that what he had done and was involved in was wrong and very, very illegal, but Iaian could not truly make his rulers understand what it was like to be blackmailed. Especially since Vishay had managed to use his meager Gift – which was mostly useless – to apply a choking curse on Iaian's full sister with the aid of potions and a magical artifact made by a certain dead Duke of the Conte line. Though he was remorseful over his situation, the mage knew that his emotions would not change the past.

Fierce, Iaian looked up into the astonished face of Thayet and the worried, thundercloud expression of King Jonathan. "Do what you will with me. I care nothing if I die on Traitor's Hill for my part in this, so long as Lady Aoife is cleared of any accusations leveled against her. She is as innocent as the flowers of spring and for all of my past good intentions, I know that this is a black stain upon me." He heard Uline and Fianna's movements create rustles from their gowns, a shocked and stony silence at his back.


	16. Eaglefire's Rejoinder

AN: I have labeled this as my rejoinder in response to a well-rounded critique. ;D Reading the reviews, I noted the Mary-Sue criticism and have read my way back through the story thus far. Dully noted. I agree that in some ways we do have our hands in a few pots, so to speak- which is probably in part due to the fact that this is a round robin story with many authors involved. And in the first chapter I wrote, if I edit it, I would make Aoife slightly less excellent in archery. Passable only. And I would make the hitting the hurrok less of a skill bit than a bit of luck in a bad moment. Also in this chapter, I tried to give an explanation for her unique ability to heal the Sickness without making her too special. :D I hope this helps tone down anything sounding cliched. :)

I'm hoping that this chapter makes everyone's heads reel…. ;)

~Eaglefire

* * *

**Chapter 16**

"Alex." The quiet, unnerved voice of the king caused Iaian to look up; Jonathan of Conte was staring past the young mage, seeing something that no one else in the prince's chambers could. His brilliant blue eyes seemed years away. Thayet turned her stern stare on Iaian; he resisted the urge to shrink from his queen's glare.

"Your mother is the Countess of Arpod? And yet you are illegitimate? Raised by your father?"

"I never knew my father," Iaian answered, closing his eyes in resignation. "But the Count of Arpad knew I was not his. Because my mother begged and pleaded he allowed me to live and I was given to a woman in the village. My… _brother_ has always found it a source of pleasure to remind me of my position… and his." He looked back up at the queen, whose frown grew.

"So you admit to conspiracy in collaboration with your half brother, but deny knowing any particulars?" Iaian bowed his head.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"But you now suspect treachery. And only come forth now because of the position of the lady Aoife of Eldorne?"

"Yes," Iaian confirmed, ire rising with impatience. "Can you see to Aoife? Why is she being charged?" He watched unrepentantly as Fianna raised an eyebrow at his impudence.

"Uline, summon the captain of the Guard," Thayet ordered. "He should be on his way here now to disclose the particulars anyway. Tell him to send men to escort the lady Aoife here- discretely, mind you. I do not want a squad of men parading her halfway across the palace in chains." With a quick curtsy, Uline exited the room.

"I did not issue the order," the king said, finally entering the conversation. He surveyed Iaian with a heavy, thoughtful gaze. "I would assume that someone sent information anonymously, and the Guard has the authority to act in such emergencies without consulting either of us. The captain, I assure you, would not have done anything without due cause." Iaian wondered if perhaps the man might have been overly hasty in his zeal to protect his king and queen, but said nothing. It was certainly not _his _place to be wondering why people were so quick to suspect treachery….

There was a loud knock at the door before it opened and the man in question stepped through. He bowed with a quick, business-like air.

"Your Majesties. Two men have been sent to escort the Lady Aoife here. Only an hour ago, I received intelligence from an anonymous source that she had the means to contrive the Sweating Sickness." He brandished a letter and handed it to the king before he continued to speak.

"What do you mean, the means?" Thayet questioned sharply.

"A magical object, Your Majesty. It would appear that, according to this source, the traitorous Duke of Conte was able to imbue objects with great power and ability to enable them to work his will even after death."

"Like his sword," Jonathon of Conte mused as he glanced up from the letter. "And this source claims that my late cousin put the spell that caused the Sickness in a ring. Whoever holds the ring can control it." Iaian's face turned ashen pale. "It further explains that Aoife was offered assistance to depose me and accepted…. After a mage brewed the Sickness out of the way of detection, he sent the ring to her so that she could keep herself from falling ill _and _direct the sickness towards Liam and others…. Several different times, other conspirators sent immortal attacks at different nobles by her orders." He fixed his eyes on Iaian. "If this is from Vishay, and he is trying to throw blame on Aoife, I assume you know what this is about. What ring?"

"I didn't know," the mage said shakily. "The ring- it was mine, once my grandfather's- it was a gift from the Duke of Conte, my father said it had powerful magic- but I only knew the protection spells. Immunity to poison. Powerful mages could use it to turn invisible. There were other links to spells, including a tracking one, but nothing harmful-"

"The Gods know what Roger spelled that ring to do," the king said grimly. "Harmless? That ring is anything _but_." He stood. "The letter further says she was planning on fleeing the city within a fortnight with her accomplices, because she would unite with her allies to attack the palace." He pursed his lips. "It mentions you, Iaian, as a target. She was to manipulate you to learn Numair Salmalin's secrets."

"She's never asked me anything about Master Numair," Iaian retorted sharply. Jon raised an eyebrow.

"If Vishay sent this, and he is bent on discrediting Aoife, why would he even draw attention to you? If you have helped him before?"

"He suspects I have second thoughts on this matter."

"Indeed? Then why protect you?" Iaian scowled.

"I don't know."

"You claim not to know quite a bit, considering how integral a part of this plot you appear to be." Silence. Iaian held the stare of the king for a long moment, jaw flexing. He had no answers; he never could fathom his half-brother's mad reasoning. His eyes narrowed.

"Ask him yourself, then."

"I intend to." Waving a hand at Iaian, Jonathon summoned a blue flame which swiftly bound the youth's hands. "The Mage's Lock. Do not try to use your Gift." He turned to the captain of the Guard. "Find Vishay of Arpod and arrest him in the King's name for conspiracy and treason against the Crown. Now."

* * *

The leering man laughed at her again. Aoife strove not to cringe as he began to speak.

"It's like seeing _her _all over again. Makes it seem like only days since we were both sentenced to life imprisonment." He grinned horribly at her. "Not many of us left now…. They sent her to another prison, years ago. She could be still alive, for all I know… if you call this living." Aoife closed her eyes, regretting having called attention to herself. "I served Alexander of Tirragen," he continued. "He had always wanted her, you know… he admired her cruelty as much as her beauty. Can't say she's very lovely now." He laughed at his own joke. Aoife could not help herself; she had to ask.

"You served Tirragen?" He chuckled, a sound that remind her of a creaking hinge.

"I was one of his serving boys. Didn't do much other than send a few sealed letters to your damned relative and her consort, the high and mighty Duke. But they didn't dare take any chances with any of us… and so you find yourself down here, too, little Eldorne?" Aoife cringed as he leaned towards her again. "What did _you _do? Spit on the Queen's hem?"

"Nothing," she whispered. The man scoffed.

"No Eldorne slut ever did nothing- treacherous to the bone. A heart as cold as that one couldn't be an accident. It's something in the blood, just as sure as any Gift." This was becoming far too much like one of her nightmares. Aoife wrapped her arms around herself, shaking her head, fiddling with the ring she had been given, the one Vishay had told her would bring her luck and happiness… how well had _that _turned out?

"No. No, I didn't-" He laughed again, a sound that was too close to a cry for her ears.

"Lying snakes, all of you- even when the evidence is right afore my eyes, you try to deny it all." Aoife stopped trying to hide her face- shocked, she turned to the prisoner.

"What evidence?" she whispered. He shook his head.

"I'd almost believe you, Eldorne, with those wide eyes," he said softly, almost kindly. "Except that I knowd better. That there-" He nodded to her hand, now lying on the ground to support her weight. "-is the magicked ring of the Duke hisself. Don't think I don't know." Aoife's jaw dropped; her stomach plummeted. By what stroke of luck had _she_, the niece of Delia of Eldorne, come across the ring of Roger of Conte? It was not luck. It was design, someone's plot against her…. For what reason, she could not begin to guess.

Before either of them could say more, footsteps resounded across the stone floor. As Aoife struggled to her feet, two guards appeared at her cell door with a key ring. Wordlessly, they entered and swiftly unchained her. She glanced at them both, bewildered, but could discern nothing; their grim faces were shadows in the dim light.

"What is happening?" One of them grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out into the passageway. "Does the queen know about this?" She managed to catch a look exchanged between the two of them.

"Give Delia my best, when you see her next!" called out the man from Tirragen. "And Roger too, when you see him at the Black God's Judgment!" Then he burst into raucous laughter as the two guards grabbed her by the shoulders and marched her down the long line of cells, away from the door from which they had entered and Aoife had been brought in through earlier. Foreboding filled the pit of Aoife's stomach.

"As a noble, I have the right to trial," she said, voice quavering more than she had wanted it to. "As one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting, I have the right to _demand _to see her-"

"Deepest apologies, my lady," one of them finally said, walking even more quickly now; they were dragging her through the dungeon- she practically ran to keep pace. "Secrecy, you must understand, is vital-"

"But I don't-" Suddenly they stopped at a closed door; yanking out the keys once more, one of the men unlocked the door and without any more explanation, she found herself shoved into the room. She whipped around to throw herself at the door as it slammed behind her.

"Don't panic," she whispered to herself before turning to gauge her surroundings. First, as she looked, her eyes widened. Then she relaxed, and a small smile crossed her face.

"Vishay," she breathed, relief flooding her muscles. He was not the person she had expected to see, but that did not matter. Now she was with someone she knew. Someone who would listen to her.

The handsome man smiled as he approached. He bowed.

"My lady Eldorne," he purred, taking her hand and kissing it as he had the first time they had met. "Forgive my rudeness." Aoife could not suppress the small laugh that bubbled to her lips. Their situation was absolutely absurd; they were in what appeared to be a small study, unexceptional except that there was a concealed passageway in the bookcase left ajar behind Vishay, in the middle of the dungeons, where she had been thrown after being arrested for treason. "We have so little time." He bit his lip. "I only wish I had realized sooner… then maybe we would not be in this predicament." Aoife frowned.

"What-"

"Iaian Hunter is plotting against the Crown," he said bluntly, stepping forward. As the words left his mouth, Aoife froze; no, the words coming from his mouth- it was unreal, impossible- "He presented evidence to Their Majesties that will frame _you_, Aoife, and your fief-"

"No," she managed. There was a mistake. How could that be true? Iaian had been _with her_- Vishay grabbed her hand, grasping at the ring. The ring.

"I knew I recognized it," he hissed, face earnestly staring back into hers. "It's _his_. Hunter's- I could not place it- it might really be harmless, but he told them all that you used the ring to brew the Sweating Sickness- he said it was the reason you could heal those who fell ill-" No. It was impossible. "I tried to find you and warn you, but he had already found you- told the guards to wait for his signal." An image of Iaian lying on her bed, next to her, appeared in her mind. Had he truly been playing her? Counting the seconds until the guards burst in?

Why else hadn't they taken him with her, when they had arrested her…? They must have known he was there, keeping an eye on her- There had always been something about his manner she could never understand… something secretive. How could Vishay be mistaken about this? She gazed into his clear, pleading eyes. How could he be wrong? He would not make such accusations unless he was certain-

At the very least, Iaian suspected her of treason. At worst, he was framing her. Her head reeled; she swayed. Vishay swept up, wrapping his arm around her.

"Aoife, are you listening? You _have _to come with me now, otherwise you'll be killed-"

"No," she protested, hardly knowing what she was doing. She fumbled for the door blindly. "Thayet will believe me- she'll figure this all out-" She put her hand on the handle of the door. Thayet. She had to get to Thayet. "Why would Iaian-I have to talk to him-" Vishay draped his hand over hers, enclosing it in his fist.

"I'm afraid," he murmured in her ear. "I can't allow you to do that." Before she could say anything, he stuffed a kerchief into her face. She tried to move, but he pinned her to the door, forcing her to inhale the sweet, cloying scent of the cloth. For a moment, nothing happened; she was locked in a silent, futile struggle, her eyes locked with his.

Then, slowly, the room darkened, and Aoife sank to the floor in a dead faint.

* * *

AN: Reviews? :D


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